


Renewed Shall be Blade that was Broken

by silmarlfan1



Series: The House of Arthadan/Rogers Series [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angels, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Good Person Michael (Supernatural), Mentions of Rape, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Nùmenoreans - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Disorders, Supernatural - Freeform, Supernatural fix it, The Avengers (2012) Spoilers, captain america the winter soldier fix it, descriptions of rape, good angels, graphic birth, more characters added as posted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2020-02-08 12:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 66,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18623293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silmarlfan1/pseuds/silmarlfan1
Summary: Thought lost for all time, the frozen corpse of Steve Rogers was found in the arctic on the morning of April the 14th, 2012.It was supposed to be a time of mourning and solace, a day that Yasha and Steven Buchanan would remember for all time as the Day Steve Rogers came home from the war. It was supposed to be the day Yasha and Steven received closure for the loss of a loved one: for Steven a man he hadn’t seen in almost 70 years, and for Yasha the father he had never met.But instead of a funeral, there was a hospital room, Instead of a dirge, a baseball game. Instead of a dead father and friend, they got a living one.On April 17th Steve Rogers wakes to a world that is drastically changed, and in some ways not. But Steve Rogers did what was right, and gave his life for his country; he just never expected to wake up. And he certainly didn’t expect to fight an army from outer space, with a pair of spies, a man in a flying suit of armor, a demi-god, and a giant green rage monster.The world certainly has changed.





	1. Cargo of the Valkyrie

**Author's Note:**

> AN: sorry I let you all wait so long, but it is so cold in my officer it’s not even funny. Okay so this is the big return of Captain America, or just Steve. The biggest difference here is Steve has a support base with Arthadan now and Yasha, and the knowledge that there are a lot of people that needed him home and wanted him home. I want you guys to get that while this is seriously cannon divergent, I like the themes and overall quality to the Avengers and the Winter Soldier, so I am keeping them, but just to be clear: Phil does not die, he will never die!  
> There is going to be a lot of heavy emotion and even some politics in this, but nothing heavy, just trying to fix the complete FUBAR that they did to Bucky and Cap in Civil War. I hope you like it and give me your thoughts, they always make my day.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: this is the intro into the story, so just for clarification, its 2012 right before Steve was found in the ice. I couldn’t figure out a way to do Iron Man so I just skipped those parts, but what happened in that time will be touched on in parts.  
> Please feel free to give me some advice, some parts are fluid and others are set in stone, but I am willing to listen and explain if you want.  
> So without further ado…  
> On to the fic

~*~*

* * *

 

It was like any other late night bender in rec room 8, Yasha and Jake, after having been discharged from the army (Yasha under protest, and Jake rather quietly) had joined SHIELD and were relaxing after a long mission with their fellow sniper and SHIELD agent, Clint Barton. It was late; the three of them only just returning from a long mission in Azerbaijan, and thus all had the dreaded jet lag. So they did what any half sane sniper with too much energy would do at three in the morning: they skipped debrief and hid in the only rec room with a TV and working DVD player to watch old War movies. Their latest film was the Longest Day, and that led them to scrounging up a laptop and spooling up the propaganda footage and documentaries about the war on Netflix. The three had just started a four part series on the War in Europe, and the latest one was all about Captain Steve Rogers: Captain America.

Yasha watched morosely as the sepia and gray footage of the long gone Captain ran across the screen. The narration was decent and the narrator had a somber tone to his voice as he talked about Captain Rogers actions in the war. That was the only reason Yasha had even agreed to watch this one; because of the respect the director and writers had for not only the legend but also the man behind the legend. They had done their due diligence in gathering up every bit of information about the long missing Captain in order to create an accurate image of the Man instead of the myth. And it showed, they didn’t speak grandiosely about his patriotism, but rather about his determination to see a wrong righted, his desire to do the right thing, even if it put him at odds with the top brass. They even spoke briefly but accurately about his crushing grief and guilt after the loss of his dearest friend. They had scrounged up old documents and reports from then Col. Philips about having Captain Rogers put on tight watch by his fellow Commandoes, and even having to have the Captain restrained once the shock had worn off. The aged Col. feared that Steve might commit suicide or try and kill the man responsible for the death of his best Friend.

Yasha had to snort to himself when he saw that part.

                ‘Perhaps it would have been better if he had,’ Yasha thought, remembering all the suffering that happened at the hands of the pig faced rat. Clint looked over at his fellow sniper with a raised brow before the older man shrugged and turned back to the screen. The episode was ending and was just about to reach its climax with the world known and infamous last call to base, when Yasha finally opened his mouth and spoke.

                “I wish I had known him,” Yasha said somberly, his thick Russian accent even thicker with his grief. Clint grinned and chuckled, his head lolling to the side with his easy grin.

                “Everyone wants to know Captain America, kid,” Barton said, “hell; Coulson would give his left arm to have been in the same room with him. That man is the president of the Captain America fan club,” Clint snickered and looked over at Jake. “He’s even got a set of vintage Captain America trading cards.” Jake stifled his own snort, and giggled at the mental image of bland calm and capable Coulson fanboying over Captain America. He looked over at Yasha and saw that he didn’t share the pair’s amusement.

                “I want to know Captain Steve Rogers,” he said softly, “not Captain America.” Clint looked curiously at the younger man and saw a great sorrow on his face. A frown furrowed his brow as he puzzled this out.

                “Why,” he asked simply, and Jake turned to look at his oldest friend and partner, genuinely curious.

                “I wish to know Steve Rogers,” he said, “the same way any son wishes to know their father.”

 Such simple words and yet they had a great impact. Clint turned to look at Yasha fully, barely registering that Jake had paused the show, genuinely shocked at such a revelation.

                “How’s that possible,” he asked, “I’ve read your personnel file, your records states that you born to a family related to the Barnes, not Rogers. How can you be his son?” Yasha closed his eyes and released a deep breath, focusing on his senses and reaching out with his mind. Yasha’s telepathy was innate, but he was relatively unskilled at it. At best he could get an impression feeling of their thoughts and emotions and know whether or not to trust them. But it never steered him wrong even after he joined SHIELD, knowing that he was walking in to a nest of vipers but still sensing some good in the agency. It was this same feeling of trustworthiness that Yasha sensed from Clint, and knew he could be trusted, and Jake he knew all his life in the Army, and had even agreed to follow him to SHIELD to help him root out HYDRA. The brunette opened his eyes and turned his silver blue gaze upon his companions.

                “I am the result of the soviet’s experimentation with the serum,” he began, “they never got it right, no matter how many times they tried, so they went to a source they knew would work: Steve. SHIELD kept in storage the one thing that could give them what they wanted: his reproductive material. Howard had harvested a single egg from my Ada, for study, and when he was finished it was placed in cold storage until Steve would use it. Except… Steve never came back from that last mission, and thus I was left in cold storage.” Yasha paused and mulled over what he would tell, and decided that he would just stick to the bare bones of the facts. “The Soviets found out and stole it. They took a sperm sample that was in the same unit, and combined them. They didn’t even know if it would take, but it did; and after a little genetic tinkering… I was created.” Jake was looking at his friend with wide eyes, and Clint was flabbergasted.

                “Then how did you end up with a Barnes relation,” the archer asked. Yasha closed his eyes and mulled over his answer.

                “The project was defunded before they could find a suitable surrogate,” he said, “and during his campaign through soviet Russia the knight found it,” Yasha huffed out a laugh, “in a cryo vault in northern Russia. It was supposed to be destroyed but the message was miss read, or decoded improperly, and was shelved instead. He brought it back to the states and to Ada’s last relations: the Barnes family.”

                “I didn’t know Barnes was related to Captain Rogers,” Clint said. Yasha nodded.

                “They are,” he confirmed, “through Winifred Barnes. She is a Cuthal, a descendant of the house of Mormegil, the second son Arthadan.” Clint shook his head with a wry smile.

                “You make it sound like they are close relations when they’re only distant cousins,” Clint said, “it’s like trying to wrap your head around the bloodline of the kings of England.” Yasha smirked but the smile quickly fell.

                “As far as it is concerned, the Barnes’ are the last of Steve’s relations,” Yasha said morosely. “There’s no one else left. He had no more family. The blood of Numenor is all but spent.”

Yasha looked down at his hands, wondering over their long slender fingers and large palms. They were strong hands, artists’ hands, his papochka always said; Steve’s hands. Arthadan and he had the same hands, large palms and long slender fingers; perfect craftsman’s hands. It was the one thing he could see in himself when he looked in the mirror or his reflection that belonged to his Ada. The rest came from Bucky or Fëanaro’s son, Celegorm. When the light caught his hair just right it would shimmer with red hues, almost like the darkest of blood was caught in his hair. His eyes were all Fëanor; with the same brow to cover them, and even the cut of his cheeks were the same as Fëanor’s. There was very little that could clue anyone into thinking he was Steve Rogers’s son, and for a long while he liked it that way; but now, at this moment, he just wanted someone else to know the truth.

                “I just wish I knew him,” he whispered around his sudden tears. Clint saw the tears in his normally unshakeable partner and slid across the couch to wrap a comforting arm around Yasha’s shoulders. That very act broke the last vestiges of Yasha’s emotional strength, and as soon as Clint had his arm around the brunette’s shoulder, Yasha broke down and began sobbing. Clint being a man that had dealt with Natasha’s occasional breakdowns pulled the man in close and allowed Yasha to bury himself in Clint’s chest; his face pressed inward to hide his tears.

                “Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Clint softly crooned, “it’s gonna be alright.”

As Clint comforts a young man barely out of his teens, Jake watched and contemplated his best friend’s revelation. It had been no secret that Yasha was physically strong and fast, but it had all been thought to have been part of his natural mutation. Now all that knowledge was flipped on its head. Jake mulled over this for a moment and realized that it made sense. Yasha was strong and fast because he was not only part Numenorean but because he was also Steve’s son, and had the Serum, or at least some part of it, in his blood and genes. But also with this was the knowledge that Yasha just was that good. Yes, he had innate talent, but the younger man had also trained for years to get to his level of skill. He had the training, but the enhanced skills only added to his abilities, and all of this added up to Yasha becoming one of the top foremost marksmen’s in the world. This also put into new light Yasha’s sense of right and wrong, his inner moral compass and his unshakeable principles. Yasha was Steve Rogers’ son, and he knew it; so he spent his whole life trying to live up to the unreachable memory of the man that had essentially given him life. Where most men would falter and give up trying to reach such and unachievable goal, Yasha strove ever onward to become a son that the brave Captain could be proud of. And in Jake’s eyes and indeed everyone that knew him, Yasha a more than lived up to his Ada and was a man worthy of being Steve’s son.

It was to this scene, Yasha sobbing on Clint’s chest and Jake sitting at his back with a comforting hand rubbing Yasha’s shaking shoulders, which Phil Coulson found himself confronting, when he finally found his wayward snipers. As much as the handler would love to debrief them, he knew better than to interrupt an obviously very emotional breakdown. He knew Yasha very well at this point, having been his handler off and on for the past three years, and the former sergeant was a very emotionally closed man, so for something to bring this kind of response out of him, had to have been a long time coming. So the handler did the sensible thing, and slowly backed out of the room and left the two snipers be.

As he turned down the hall towards his office, he was nearly bowled over by Jonathan rushing towards the break room. Phil looked over his shoulder at the young annalist with a raised brow. Usually the young tech wiz was as calm and composed as his adopted brother Yasha, and his elder army brother, Steven, but for some reason the look on his face as he blew past Phil was one of stunned shock and old grief. Phil shook his head and went to his office to close down for the night. It was late enough, and he had another early morning to deal with, on top of handling Clint and Yasha’s debrief. Whatever it was, it could wait until morning.

~*~*

* * *

 

 Yasha is barely getting a grip on his emotions when Jonathan suddenly rushed into the room. Jake and Clint send the annalist a nasty look, but when Yasha sees Jonathan’s face, he knew his brother would have never interrupted them if it wasn’t absolutely important.

                “Yasha,” he said, tears filling his young eyes, “they found _the Valkyrie_. Yasha, they found Steve.” Silence reigned for a long moment, as the knowledge finally set in, before new tears bust forth in Yasha’s eyes. Clint recovered his senses enough to gather Yasha in his arms as he began to cry, but even then, even he is still in shock. This was huge! Not only had they found the legendary HYDRA flying wing, but they had also found Captain America as well. Jake sat numbly by his friend as he tried to comprehend the gravity of the situation, but all that he could gather was that this was a day he would never forget.

It took Yasha a long moment before he had finally calmed down to speak.

                “Has Steven been told,” he asked, “does he know?” Jonathan didn’t think that answering out loud would do anything but raise more questions than they wanted to answer at this moment so he somberly nodded and opened a telepathic link between them.

                ‘ _I sent the message the minute it came on the air,’_ Jonathan told him, before he added; ‘ _I took the liberty of informing Arthadan as well.’_ Jonathan’s eyes became downcast and mournful. ‘ _At the very least he deserves to bury the last of his House in Hithlum, in a Royal tomb.’_ Yasha nodded and sat in shocked silence before nearly jumping out of his skin as he phone suddenly rang. Clint started and looked down at the offending object with distain, as Yasha looked down at the screen and saw the caller id. Yasha practically sagged with relief when he saw Steven’s name and picture on the screen, and answered the phone quickly.

                “Steven,” Yasha said meekly, hearing the muffled sounds of traffic through the other end of the phone.

                “Yasha,” Steven answered, “I’m in DC. I just got the message.” Steven sounded winded and anxious.

                “Jonny just told me,” Yasha said holding back another wave of tears. Steven snuffed his nose and there was the sound of skin on skin as Yasha finally realized that his strong big brother was crying.

                “I’m on my way back to New York,” Steven said, the sound of an engine revving in the background muffling his gasp before he spoke again. “I’ll get things ready for the internment a…and the memorial. I’ll make sure that … that we all can have a moment with him one last time. To say goodbye,” Steven gasped and Yasha could hear his labored breathing as it became apparent that Steven was still crying. Yasha smiled through his tears, loving his big brother even more for the lengths he was willing to go through so that Yasha didn’t have to worry while in mourning; even when his own grief was like a lead weight in his throat and a knife in his heart. “Put Jonny on the phone, Yasha,” Steven ordered once he managed to gather his voice again and sound somewhat strong.

Yasha handed Jonathan his phone and watched as his brother began to discuss something with him. Yasha for once in his life was thankful for his enhanced hearing, which allowed him to hear Steven’s side of the conversation.

                “Are you linked, Jonathan,” Steven asked, and Jonathan nodded with a shuddering breath.

                “Yeah,” he answered, knowing his brother meant the psychic –like link he and Steven shared with tech and used to listen in on conversations and hack databases like no one else. “I’ve got real-time access. I should be able to give you the coordinates of the plane and keep you up to date on the progress.”  Steven sighed and cleared his throat. “Do you want me to?”

                “No,” Steven finally said, “stay linked in and keep Yasha informed. I’m linking into SHIELD’s communication’s hub now.” Steven placed his hand on the small screen on his car’s console and redirected his link to the screen; accessing the camera’s at the crash site. The minute the murmuring and calm chatter filled the car, talking about Steve and about how well preserved his body was, Steven had to turn the car’s controls over to Susie, his AI, before he crashed the car. Hearing them talking about Steve in such a detached and clinical way, just drove it home even more: this was it, Steve was really gone. “Susie, take control,” he said and the AI did as commanded.

                “Sir,” Yasha heard Susie’s gentle Irish accent ask softly, “Are you alright?” Yasha heard Steven stifle a sob before letting out a deep breath.

                “No,” he answered, “but I will be, thanks for asking.”

                “Steven,” Jonathan said sounding and looking more helpless than Yasha had ever seen his little brother look since the day they took Bucky away. “You gonna be alright to drive?”

                “I’ll be okay, Jonny,” Steven said as his eyes fixed back on the screen again as he heard a commotion over the vid-feed. Steven watched as the doctors waved a heating wand over Steve’s thawing body, still half encased in ice. Steve looked perfect, almost as if he had simply fallen asleep, and the only thing that told him he wasn’t was the lack of breathing and the cold blue tint to Steve’s face and his dark blue lips. Suddenly Steven couldn’t keep the tears from his face as the realization hit him like a freight train: it was real. It wasn’t a dream, it was real! This was really happening. They found Steve and they were finally bringing him home. They were finally going to lie to rest the last of the Howling Commandoes, the last of the House of Arthadan. Steven let out a choked keen as he watched the doctors pick and prod at Steve’s lifeless body. It was like watching a dream he had long dreaded ever coming true, and here it was; real and in living color: Steve was dead. A half broken wail tumbled out of his mouth before he could cover it with his hand and smother the rest that tried to escape.

                “Steven,” he heard Jonathan say, but he tuned out his little brother, his eyes and ears riveted to the screen. Suddenly there is a commotion on the end of the feed, and Steven mentally turned up the volume to hear what the doctors were saying.

                “ _Doctor, I’ve got cardiac activity,”_ a nurse said, and the head doctor turned around from his place at the microscope.

                _“What,”_ he said _, “that’s impossible. Let me see that.”_ He held out his hand and took the wand from her, and began scanning Steve’s body. Suddenly Steven’s heart was in his throat. The doctor ran the scanner over Steve’s lifeless chest and looked at the readings in disbelief. “ _That can’t be! Nurse, hand me the portable brain wave scanner. Thank you.”_ Steven watched as he ran the scanner over Steve’s head and looked over at the screen for the readouts.

                “ _Theta waves_ ,” the nurse said with awe. The doctor reclaimed the previous scanner and held it to Steve’s chest, running it down the length of his torso before moving to Steve’s head. The man placed a small scalpel under Steve’s nose and whatever he saw was enough to have him recoil in shock.

                “ _Oh my God_ ,” he said his voice quickly becoming frantic. “ _This guy’s still_ alive!” Steven choked on a gasp, his wide eyes glued to the screen. _“Nurse, get a crash cart! I need warm saline bags and IV’s! We need to get this guy’s core warmed up STAT! Richards, I need you to inform Fury. This is a rescue op now. Tell him to have a hypothermia specialist and a neurosurgeon on standby. We don’t know what his brain’s gonna be like. Tell him to have a trauma room prepped and ready by the time we get there. And have that Jet spooled up and ready for takeoff in less than a minute! We need to get him back to a hospital!”_

                “He’s alive,” Steven breathed with hope and awe a smile pulling across his face. “ _He’s ALIVE_!” Jonathan paled and looked up to Yasha’s confused and hopeful face.

                “He’s alive,” Jonathan said softly his face written with shock.

                “What,” Yasha gasped his eyes as wide as saucers.

                “STEVE’s ALIVE!” Jonathan practically screamed with a widening smile, laughter overcoming his shock as joy permeated his very being.

Clint’s jaw dropped open in pure shock as Yasha’s tears turned to those of joy and laughter.

                “He’s alive,” Yasha cried, throwing his arms around Jake and laughing and crying into his friend’s shoulder. “He’s alive!”

What a day this had been, and it was only just beginning.

~*~*

* * *

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End notes: sorry this took so long, we had so many cold snaps that I couldn’t use my computer for months! But now it’s warming up again and my fingers aren’t turning blue while I’m typing, so I think I’ll ask: what did you think?  
> I wanted so bad to get this right. It’s hard to write time jumps and convey that a lot of time has passed, and in this case it’s been about three to four years since we last interacted with the Barnes’, so here’s a rough summary: Yasha had to leave the Army after an incident outed him, thankfully his superiors were kind enough to give him an honorable discharge to save face rather than the blue slip. Jake left at the same time with an honorable discharge, same as Yasha and Jonathan and Steven recruited them for the CIA to spy on SHIELD. They joined up and moved up the ranks; now they’re part of STRIKE team Delta, and pair off with Barton from time to time.  
> Steven’s a liaison consultant with SHIELD for the CIA and Army Intelligence. But really he’s just there to gage HYDRA’s corruption of SHIELD and take out some of the high level players to even the odds, and use them to find the last people on his revenge/hit list.  
> That’s about it for catch up so I hope you enjoyed it and I’ll try to post more soon.


	2. Surprises and Baseball; Steve Comes Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I hope you all liked my last chapter; this one is going to reveal a lot of stuff about Steve to SHIELD that they didn’t know. (Purposefully, Peggy wasn’t gonna put that stuff on record, and neither was Howard.) And we finally get to see the last scene of the First Avenger. YAY! I am going to wait for the reunion until the next chapter, so that it doesn’t juxtapose with the rehashed stuff from Steve’s wake up, but you will see a lot a medical, or pseudo medical stuff. I will try to be accurate but I’m an artist, not a doctor. So faults are all mine.  
> Onto the fic

~*~*

* * *

 

To say that Clint didn’t get any sleep that night would be an understatement. The blond archer spent several long minutes with Yasha and his brother trying to come to grips with the fact that Captain America, Steve Rogers was alive; after nearly seventy years frozen in ice, he was still alive. After it finally hit him that the Captain was really alive, Clint realized that he had to tell someone, and he knew of no better person that Phil Coulson. Clint quickly disentangled himself from Yasha and handed him off to his best friend, before rushing out of the room with the hopes of catching Phil before he went home.

By the time Clint caught up with his handler he was already waylaid by Natasha. The calm red head raised a manicured eyebrow at Clint as he rushed across the lot. Once the archer caught his breath, Clint told him about the Valkyrie and about Steve Rogers. Coulson at first paled in shock at the discovery of the Valkyrie, and then he turned positively giddy at the prospect of seeing Steve Rogers’ body. But once Clint told him that Captain Rogers was alive and that he was on his way back to their trauma center in New York, the normally unruffled agent looked about ready to faint. A fact which made Romanoff smirk slightly, knowing it came from Coulson’s inner fanboy.

But Clint never got to see the Captain in the flesh, because he was called to Fury’s office with a new assignment a few hours later.

                “Babysitting,” Clint drawled once he saw the mission brief, his eyebrow ticking up in the same bland look that Coulson had perfected years before.

                “Not babysitting,” Fury corrected, “simply observing and keeping an eye on an asset of important interest. Selvig is one of the best in the field of Astrophysics and he is working with an object of near unlimited power. People tend to go crazy over things like that, and I want insurance that no one is going to sabotage Project Pegasus.” Clint looked at Fury with an irritated frown.

                “You know, if you wanted someone to spy on him, you could have just sent Romanoff,” Clint argued, “she’s far better at babysitting eccentric geniuses than I am. Plus she’s got the experience.” Fury cocked a half smirk and leaned forward on his desk.

                “I know that,” he replied, “but she’s got bigger issues to deal with, and I need someone with unbiased sight to handle Selvig. I’m sending Coulson with you,” Fury added, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers thoughtfully in front of his face. Clint’s brows rose at that and he gave Fury a surprised look. “Lord knows that man would just love to meet Rogers in the flesh,” Fury said as he rolled his eyes, “but I need him else were. He’ll be following you in a few days. But for now he’s going to be escorting Rogers’ unconscious body back to our trauma center. It’s the only compromise I can give the man to let him anywhere near Rogers.” Clint stifled a snort and tried to school his features but knew he had failed when Fury shot him a scathing look. How that man could glare so fiercely with only one eye was anyone’s guess, but Clint never wanted to know what it was like before he lost an eye. Clint’s amused smirk fell of his face and into resignation with a sigh.

                “Yes, sir,” Clint said with military practice. “I’ll keep an eye on the scientist until Coulson can drag himself away from the Captain.” That time he couldn’t suppress the smirk, and left the room with a salute and the feeling of daggers being glared into his back.

All this chaos and it was only 5am. Clint sighed, just another day at the office.

~*~

Clint Said goodbye to Yasha a few minutes later and gave the poor man a desperately needed hug.

                “Good luck, kid,” he whispered into Yasha’s ear. Yasha’s only response was to hug Clint just a little bit tighter. “He’s gonna love ya.” Clint pulled away with an encouraging smile, to which Yasha returned with a trembling smile of his own. Clint watched as he walked away from the tarmac back towards the barracks. He honestly hoped that the Captain was every bit the man that Yasha obviously looked up to his whole life, and he desperately hoped that the young agent was not disappointed.

~*~*

* * *

 

The flight back from the arctic was quiet and full of barely held tension. The doctors were all hovering around the still pale and motionless form of Steve Rogers, lying on the gurney in front of them. By Col. Fury’s orders, they had to stop attempting to resuscitate the Captain until they had reached base, where they would resume their attempts and hopefully revive the long lost hero. One of the guards involved was Lieutenant Richardson. He was among the team that had found the Captain and he felt that there was no greater honor than to bring the long lost Hero home. That was before he was informed that the Captain was alive and that they were going to attempt to revive him back at base. Daniel was a former Ranger, and had grown up hearing about the famous Captain America as a kid. Those stories, no matter how awesome they were, they were nothing compared to the real thing he heard from some of the old timers that had actually met the man. Saturday morning cartoons had nothing on the epic tales of heroism and courage that followed the Captain like a war banner. The legends around him made the Captain almost myth-like but here he was guarding the man himself as the Doctors scrambled around him for scans and non-invasive tests that could be done without further thawing of the body.

There was an honor guard with them as well, from when they had informed their superiors that they had found a long lost American Hero. These men, just young boys had probably heard the same stories that Daniel had, but they didn’t have the luxury of having real firsthand accounts to base their respect on; just the Saturday morning cartoons and comics that had grown up with as kids. So they had looked at the man with barely concealed awe, or rather the body of the man, as they had thought the Captain was dead. They had been sent by the General of 53rd Army, who had absorbed the 107th infantry of New York in the 90s after they had been disbanded. The General wanted Captain Rogers to be returned to New York and Brooklyn for a state funeral with all the pomp and circumstance of a former president, as befitted the Hero of Brooklyn. This planning and organizing all came to a screeching halt when the Doctor had declared that Captain Rogers was still alive. All the plans of the news being broke with the six o clock morning news was crushed ruthlessly under the boot of SHIELD and their need to keep such news secret. It was a shock to even the scarred director himself that the brave Captain was still alive, but it was news that would not leave SHIELD until they were good and ready.

Personally Daniel thought it was stupid, but Fury answered to the Council, and they probably would just love to get their hands on the living breathing symbol of the Greatest Generation. But he wasn’t paid to give his opinion, just investigate, report or guard important artifacts, and this… this was the most important thing he had ever guarded in his life.

Seeing the man in person was so much more than he ever could have dreamed, but also very different. For one, Rogers wasn’t golden haired to the point of fair, like in the comics and later cartoons would depict him as, but rather his hair was a very light brown with sun kissed highlights streaking through the top of his hair. All in all it looked even more stunning that the Cartoons. And another thing was that Steve Rogers had a thick lower lip that looked nothing like the comics drawings of the man, who had thin lips and a stern expression cut permanently into his mouth. Rogers’ lips cut into a very soft line, that Daniel could easily see turning into a wide inviting smile, as well as that patented Captain America Disapproves frown. Another thing the comics got wrong was how young he looked, and as Daniel looked at the man in the center of the flurry of doctors and scanners, he calculated in his head. He came to the shocking realization that the man before them was only 26 years old when he crashed the Valkyrie into the ice. Younger than Daniel’s youngest nephew, and old enough to date his oldest daughter; College age really, just a kid. It was hard to reconcile the knowledge of what this man had done with the young man laying before him.

Daniel was suddenly jerked from his ruminations when two of the Doctors started conversing in a huddle in hushed tones. Curious, the lieutenant slid closer to listen, and after a minute he wished that he hadn’t.

                “That can’t be possible,” the head doctor said, looking down at the printout in his partner’s hand. “Have you run the test again?” the man I question rolled his eyes and gave his superior a nasty look.

                “Of course I have,” he snapped, “you wouldn’t think I’d bring this to your attention if I hadn’t double and triple checked the results.” He brandished the papers in front of his boss like a sword, and spoke in even harsher and more clipped tones, “Captain Rogers has elevated levels of Human Chorionic Gonadotropic Hormones, HCG; high levels. Now you and I both know that such high levels can only be present during pregnancy.” The head scientist looked dubiously at his subordinate and tried to come up with an explanation.

                “It could also be a tumor,” he said and that sounded pathetic to even Daniel’s ears. The other doctor scoffed and sent the man a scathing look.

                “You and I both know that Captain Rogers was in the pique of physical health when he entered the HYRDA base in the Alps. Hormone levels like this are only present in cancerous tumors that are huge, and seeing as Captain Rogers is in pique physical fitness,” he quipped running an eye over the Captain’s thin and muscular form, “the only other explanation is pregnancy.” The doctor tossed the file at him with a sneer. “Run a scan yourself, if you don’t believe me.”

 The head doctor acquiesced and maneuvered a portable body scanner over Captain Rogers’ body.

                “I still say it’s not possible,” the man grumbled as he turned on the machine.

                “Captain Rogers is also Numenorean,” a different doctor chimed in, “and records have shown that those with genetic ties to the Royal family have the tendency of being hermaphrodites. Captain Rogers is the direct descendant of Arthadan, so it’s not impossible.” The doctor sent his colleague a scathing look and returned to his scanner. Daniel didn’t know much about how it worked but it seemed to scan like an ultrasound but with much more resolution and detail. Soon enough there was an image of Captain Rogers’ form on the screen, showing his muscles, bones and tissues. The head scientist focused in on the abdominal area and after a minute fiddling with the density penetration the doctor found something. It was not what he was expecting, because he took off his glasses and leaned into the screen for a closer look, his eyes widening as his jaw dropped to the floor.

                “Well I’ll be damned,” he said to himself, his eyes wide with shock, “he’s pregnant.” The soldiers, guards and scientists all crowded around the screen for a look and though he had only seen one a few times Daniel knew enough about ultrasounds to see the shadowy outline of a womb and multiple shapes within.

                “Hey doc,” he said and all eyes turned to him, “I may not any expert, but I see multiples.” The scientists all turned back to the screen and began to fiddle with the scan again. There was a sharp intake of breath when the blurry image finally came into focus.

                “Oh my God,” a nurse said with a breathless whisper, “there are four of them!”

                “Check for vitals,” Richards finally ordered when their superior stayed silent. The nurse slowly but carefully extracted Captain Rogers’ belly from his nearly frozen clothes, and pressed an ultrasound wand directly to the lower abdomen. After a minute, of hearing nothing but the single slow beat of Rogers’ enhanced heart, the distinctive sound of a smaller heart filled the craft. The nurse grinned and moved it to another spot and heard another. Twice more provided the same results, and she turned to her boss with an ecstatic grin.

                “All four show life signs,” she said. The head scientist looked at the four little dark blobs on the scan with awe, before he turned the scanner back on.

                “This proves that it is genetic,” Richards said with a grin. “Do you know how huge this is, Dr. Owens? Dr. Owens?” the head scientist ignored his subordinate for a long minute as he focused on the live scan and on the small figures he had narrowed it in on. “What is it?”

                “The fetuses are at different stages of development,” he answered.

                “What,” Richards exclaimed.

                “See for yourself,” he said and pushed the arm of the screen so that it swung around to face his subordinate. Richards looked the scan over and sure enough two of the fetuses were more developed than the others, and one of the smaller ones was even less developed.

                “Incredible,” Richards exclaimed. The lead scientist shook his head in wonder as he tried to puzzle out what this meant.

                “There must have been a time when he wasn’t fully frozen, or before his core began to freeze,” he mused out loud, “it’s the only thing that could account for the different growth. The bigger ones must have been the last to freeze.”

                “I think you’re right,” Richards said, and swung the screen back between them, “see here,” he pointed, “the bigger ones are at around at least thirteen weeks development for a Numenorean, whereas the smaller one is at maybe eight and four for the smallest. That would make date of conception around mid to late December.”

                “Captain Rogers had leave around Christmas with the Commandoes,” Daniel spoke up, and the others all swung around to look at him with varying expressions of confusion and shock. “It’s something that one of the old 107th told me once. Barnes and the others got leave and he used it to propose to his sweetheart. Could have happened then, easily.” The doctors all look thoughtfully at each other, and then at the scan.

                “Sounds reasonable,” the lead scientist said, “we won’t know for sure until… until he wakes up,” the doctor finished uneasily. A laugh startled its way out of him and he shook his head. “This is nuts! A couple of hours ago this man was frozen cold dead in a solid block of ice, and now… we’re all talkin’ about him waking up and answering questions about his sex life!” chuckles erupted throughout the scientists and stifled snickers through the soldiers and honor guard.

~*~*

* * *

 

When they arrived back at base, they were met by none other than Phil Coulson, Agent of SHIELD and president of the Captain America fan club. The doctors and scientists all smiled good-naturedly at the man’s obvious excitement at meeting his all-time hero, but at the moment his presence was making things difficult. The scientists met him at the hangar door as they rushed him out of the plane and onto a SHIELD issue QuinJet repurposed for emergency med-evac. Coulson followed them as they rushed Rogers’ slowly thawing body into the jet and took a seat beside his head. The doctors have finally and carefully extracted his body from the block it had been incased in, and were working on thawing him entirely, keeping an eye on his vitals as they placed a set of fetal heart monitors on his belly. Coulson raised a brow to this but was ignored in favor of starting up the monitors and watching the life signs of the babies. Coulson’s eyebrows climbed up to his hairline when he saw the steady but faint pulse of the four fetuses on their monitors. The SHIELD agent took out his phone and sent a quick text to his boss.

                COULSON: ‘ _Did you know Rogers was pregnant?_ ’ the reply came a minute later.

                FURY: ‘WHAT!!’ Coulson took a quick picture of Rogers attached to fetal heart monitors and the doctors’ screens showing the ultrasounds, and sent it off in text.

                FURY: ‘ _Oh Hell_!’ Coulson smirked slightly and waited for Fury’s next text.

                FURY: ‘ _I’ll warn the trauma team, and have a specialist waiting in the lab_.’

                COULSON: _J ‘thank you, sir_.’

Coulson stashed his phone away and took a long good look at his hero. He was taller than expected, and also thinner, but he more than made up for it with his broad shoulders and thick barrel chest. He was undoubtedly handsome and so very young. Coulson noted the change of pitch in the engines as they switched to the turbines and began their decent onto the landing pad at SHIELD headquarters New York.

                “Alright people,” the head scientist said, “we treat this like a regular case of severe hypothermia. We first need to get his uniform off and then get him dry. Richards,” he ordered.

                “Yes, sir,” the doctor in question asked.

                “Did you call ahead and inform them that we need warm saline on standby,” he asked.

                “Yes sir,” the doctor replied, “I also took the liberty of asking them to pull Captain Rogers medical files from storage. They might have more info on what we are dealing with here.”

                “Very good,” Dr. Owens said with a curt nod. Coulson stood up as the plane jolted when its landing gear finally touched the ground. The doctors all gathered around Rogers with their hands holding equipment and important materials attached to Rogers’ unconscious and still unmoving form. The Jet’s ramp lowered to the ground and the team was off like a shot, rushing across the landing pad and towards the elevator to take them to the prepped trauma room.

Coulson followed quickly behind them and managed to squeeze into the emergency elevator behind Rogers. The doctors all ignored him as they watched Captain Rogers’ vitals like hawks. The doors opened and they pushed their patient and gurney towards the room at the end of the hall. Doctors and nurses all parted as the crew pushed their way towards the trauma room, and each and every one of them stared in awe at the man on the gurney as he passed.

                “Alright everyone, on three… one, two, THREE,” the lead doctor commanded and as one they all heaved Steve off the gurney and onto the table. Steve’s form shook limply from the movement but otherwise he remained motionless. The doctors separated and started grabbing tools. “Richards, Jenkins, help me get these clothes off him,” Dr. Owens ordered. The two scientists quickly grabbed a set of scissors and began cutting the uniform off the Captain’s limp form. “Nurse Randalls, I need you to check his lungs, see if they’re clear. If they are, intubate, we need to get him breathing again.” The nurse in question grabbed a stethoscope and began just that.

                “Yes, doctor,” she said.

                “Malcolm, I need you to prep him for multiple IV’s,” Owens ordered, “We need to get his core warmed up and fast. Gregors, where’s that portable CT scanner? We need to check his brain activity.”

                “On it boss,” the doctor responded and pulled the scanner around to fit at Steve’s head.

                “What the hell,” Richards exclaimed when his scissors suddenly broke as they reached the Captain’s hips. The head scientist and lead doctor’s head whipped around to look at his subordinate.

                “What happened,” he asked as his two doctors held up their broken or mangled scissors. “What the hell did that?”

                “I don’t know,” Richards answered, “looks like he’s wearing some kind of body armor under this.” Richards ducked down and peeled away the cloth from Rogers’ skin to investigate. “Jenkins, give me a hand,” he ordered as he began to cut up the inseam of the pans with a new pair of scissors.

                “What the…” Jenkins exclaimed when he saw something shiny under the uniform but over a standard issue t shirt. Richards carefully placed his scissors between the shiny material and the Captain’s uniform and began to cut across the side to open up the top; slowly pulling the cloth up as he went. After a few clips from the shears Richards pulled the cloth up enough to reveal a shining shirt of finely crafted ring chainmail wrapped around the Captain’s torso. Richards pulled the shirt up to reveal the finely crafted edge bound with gold and silver wire. The rings themselves were finely wrought and tiny, each one smaller than a pinky nail. Each one was bound to the other in a way that bespoke of hand craftsmanship and great wealth. The shirt was fitted, but could easily be slipped on and off, over the head, and had been tucked into Captain Rogers’ pants between the layers of his shirt and armor.

Richards picked up a magnifying glass and inspected the band for a makers mark, and to his shock found that every single ring was stamped with an eight pointed star. Now, Richards wasn’t a particularly historical man but even he knew the symbol of the Lord of Eregion, and the moment he saw it he knew why his scissors shattered.

                “Mithril,” he breathed in awe.

                “Whoa,” Jenkins gasped in disbelief at the fine craft of the ring chainmail. “Guess there was some truth to those old rumors.” Owens took a moment to gawk at the silver steel shirt before he shook himself out of his stupor.

                “Continue on, Richards; Jenkins,” he ordered, and the two carefully began to cut the outer armor from Steve Rogers’ body; leaving the ring Chainmail untouched. Once the uniform could be peeled off the Captain’s form without fear they turned their attention to the chainmail. They obviously couldn’t cut it; they didn’t have anything that could, and even then they wouldn’t dare. If it was as old as they believed, it was priceless beyond its monetary value, for its historical importance. So ever so carefully they slowly raised the Captain’s arms and slipped the chainmail off his form. The t shirt had to be cut off, but then they had an unblocked access to Steve’s skin and vital core. Sensors and IV’s were quickly attached and soon they were monitoring the Captain in real time.

The nurses monitored his vitals and brain activity while the doctors and other scientists closely watched his fetal heart monitors. Steve’s core temp slowly but surely began to rise as the warm saline flowed through his veins.

                “This is incredible,” Richards said as he watched the Captain’s body core temp slowly rise above sixty degrees. “It’s like his blood was never frozen.” His coworker stared down at the blood work before him with a contemplative look on his face.

                “That’s because it didn’t,” Jenkins said as it dawned upon him. He looked up with an awed smile, and said, “Arctic Cod.” Richards and Owens gasped in realization as they got his meaning.

                “You’re saying that the Serum adapted his blood to deal with the cold,” Owens said, “a sort of natural anti-freeze like that found in arctic cod.”

                “Precisely,” Jenkins said with a broad smile.

                “This is incredible,” Richards exclaimed. Suddenly an alarm on the monitors started to go off, breaking their joyous moment of scientific breakthrough.

                “Doctor,” Nurse Randalls exclaimed in panic, “he’s bleeding!” the trio of scientists quickly rushed to Rogers form and sure enough found a slowly growing pool of blood emerging from under the Captain’s form.

                “Where’s the bleed coming from,” Owens asked as he tried to ascertain that information for himself. Soon he found his answer. “Oh no,” he said realization and despair.

                “Doctor, fetus three and four are showing signs of distress,” one of the nurses exclaimed.

                “Captain Rogers is having uterine contractions,” another proclaimed.

                “Move his legs up, and put them in stirrups,” Owens ordered Richards, as he moved to the Captain’s abdomen with an ultrasound wand. Just as he was about to place the wand on Steve’s belly, the Captain suddenly jerked and sucked in a choked breath.

                “Goddamn,” Jenkins swore, “get him on his side!” the team worked in barely controlled panic as they struggled to pull the muscular man onto his side. After a herculean effort they finally had him turned over, when the Captain jerked again and coughed out a lungful of half frozen water, gasping and coughing for a moment before his deep raspy breaths evened out into pain filled and shuddering from cold.

                “Brain activity is increasing,” Gregors said with wide eyes.

                “How is this possible,” Jenkins exclaimed with shock.

                “Core body temp is above 75 degrees, and rising,” Malcolm announced, “he’s shivering. His natural cold response is coming back.”

                “I’m reading Alpha wave activity,” Gregors exclaimed with horror, “doctor, he’s waking up!”

                “Hell,” Owens cursed and rushed to one of the medicine cabinets. He opened the glass door and grabbed a single glass vial and hypo. With all the care of an ER doctor he pulled the cap off the hypo with his teeth and jabbed the needle into the cork top of the vial. With years of experience and practice he pulled the plunger out and slowly filled the hypodermic with the gold tinted liquid. After the hypo was full, he removed it from the vial. A few quick taps from his finger as he depressed the plunger expelled any air trapped inside the chamber before a light spurt came from the tip of the needle. Assured of its safety, Owens grabbed one of the IV’s and added the hypo to it, depressing the plunger and causing the liquid to flow quickly into the Captain’s veins.

The group watched with bated breath as the Captains brainwaves dipped back down into sleep, and breathed a sigh of relief.

                “Doctor,” Richards said as he picked up the discarded medicine vial and looked at its contents, “this stuff was specially formulated for Romanoff. And you just gave him ten times the amount! Is he gonna be alright?”

                “Yeah,” Owens said with a heavy sigh. “Captain Rogers has an enhanced metabolism four times that of an Olympic athlete; he’ll need that amount. We need to keep him in a coma until we’re sure that his brain activity is normal.” Owens took a deep calming breath before he turned back to his subordinates and directed them to put the Captain back on his back. They rolled him back over and the nurses carefully placed his legs in the stirrups. The sight between the Captain’s legs was a graphic display of horror. Blood was smeared between the crux of the thighs, painting the pale legs a ghastly red and black, and it was still flowing from the hidden orifice behind the scrotum. Owens gulped and looked back up at the nurse manning the fetal vitals with hopeful eyes. The looks she returned was damning in its sorrow.

                “Doctor,” She said with a soft tone.

                “The babies,” he inquired with fading hope. She slowly shook her head with sad and soulful eyes.

                “We lost fetuses three and four,” she answered, tears in her eyes and then sympathy as she looked at the still sleeping Captain. Owens, Richards and Jenkins all closed their eyes and hung their heads in quiet shame. After having a long moment of mourning for the lives lost, they shoved it ruthlessly down to continue reviving the Good Captain. Owens took his position between Rogers’ legs and began the work of cleaning away the bloody gore that continued to flow from between his legs. After a moment Rogers’ abdomen visibly clenched and there was a gush of blood and clear fluid from the orifice.

                “Richards, hand me a speculum,” Owens ordered, and the man in question did just that. The doctor inserted the clean metal device into the vaginal opening and carefully began widening the speculum with steady and slow cranks. “Jenkins,” he said as he stopped to look into the orifice. “Please inform Director Fury that the Captain as just suffered a partial miscarriage. And make sure that those specialists are made aware of his condition.” Jenkins nodded solemnly as he left to make the report. As he turned and made his way to the doors he heard a soft female voice speak.

                “He’s so young,” she said, “and to lose them both.” A second voice followed.

                “They were both boys,” she said, “they’re so small.” Jenkins clenched his jaw against the well of tears that threatened to overwhelm him at hearing the sorrow in their voices, and walked through the doors; leaving the horror of blood and dead babies behind him.

He found Coulson just down the hall talking in hushed tones to Fury’s second, Maria Hill. The moment they saw his approach, they stopped talking and turned to face him.

                “Dr. Jenkins,” Hill asked professionally, “Agent Coulson just informed me that Captain Rogers is pregnant with multiples.” Jenkins nodded.

                “There were four,” he confirmed, and the sharp woman quickly picked up on his sad tone and use of past tense.

                “Were,” she asked. Jenkins nodded solemnly and swallowed around the tightness in his throat.

                “Captain Rogers has suffered a partial miscarriage,” he replied and licked his lips to help him continue. “We lost fetuses three and four; the smallest ones.” Hill looked momentarily saddened before it vanished behind the cold mask of professional distance.

                “What about the other two,” She asked. Jenkins puffed out a breath as he thought about the scans and vitals he had seen.

                “I’m not an expert,” he started, “but… I don’t think it’s likely that they both survive.” Hill contemplated this before she looked back at the doctor.

                “But you’re not sure,” she asked. Jenkins shook his head.

                “No, I’m not,” he said, “I’m not an expert. I’m not an OBGYN. I have no idea if he will even carry them to term. But from what I saw…” he sighed, “no, I don’t think they’ll both make it. There might be a chance that one would survive but he would need an expert to help with that. My advice is to call in a Numenorean Healer. They know more about his physiology than we could ever hope to, and they might have a way of saving the babies.” Hill nodded.

                “Your advice is noted, doctor,” Hill said and Jenkins knew when he was being dismissed, so he walked away back to the trauma room to continue aiding in the Captain’s revival.

~*~

* * *

 

It’s an overcast day on the seventeenth, the dark and low clouds heavy with the promise of rain. The groups that have been in charge of the Captain finally stabilized his condition, and that of his unborn children, enough for him to be moved to HQ in Manhattan. The steady IV drip of sedatives keeping him asleep while they underwent procedures to remove the failed pregnancies had long since been removed and a large dose of sedatives was injected for slow release to keep him out until they were ready to wake him.

The room was prepared on a soundstage with an open window and fake scenery outside with sound effects to simulate New York City from the forties. The interior was painted a drab white with a muted green lower border. The room was furnished with what little they could find in so short a time that looked period. Simple painted furniture in white and even some old depression wear vases, decorated the tops of the dressers and the vanity. A small tube radio sat on the vanity dresser playing recorded baseball and news reports from the era; while a twin metal frame bed was procured and placed in the room facing the door. A chair of similar make joined it at the foot of the bed beside the vanity and opposite the bed on the wall by the head. A pair of large white painted water-heater radiator units was placed under the two windows, which were kept open to let in the simulated sound of the street traffic below.

It was all created to trick the man they had just defrosted into thinking that he was still in the forties. But they all seemed to forget that the Captain was a very intelligent man and would be quick to notice the flaws in their hasty reconstruction. The female agent assigned to be there to welcome him was fashioned after the man’s famous love interest, Peggy Carter, in hopes that it would keep him just off enough balance to miss the fake quality of the room. Her name was Macy Sinclair and she hated the very idea of dressing up as a 1940s agent, mostly because of the hair prep involved and the muted makeup and drab clothes, not to mention the undergarments.

But this all swung on the miss conception that Steve Rogers was a simple minded Soldier, when he really was anything but. And they all learned this the hard way when the Captain finally woke up.

~*~*

* * *

 

The first thing he heard was the soft hiss of the radio, but that couldn’t have been right, because the radio broke on impact. The second thing he heard was that there was a soft and familiar voice coming across the static. Red Barber was calling a Dodgers game at Ebbets Field. It was familiar in a good way, but then as he opened his eyes he realized that something was wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it but as he opened his eyes and took in his surroundings he realized that something was off. He looked around the room and saw nothing out of the ordinary but something just didn’t feel right. He pulled his arm away from his side and suddenly realized how stiff he felt. He pulled them away from his sides with some effort and looked down at them. He saw that he was undressed, or at least, wasn’t wearing his uniform. With slow and careful movements Steve turned and sat up on the side of the bed. His body felt stiff and heavy, and his belly had a painful soreness he had never felt before, so he winced as he sat up and decided against just sitting in the bed and carefully rolled to side on the edge of the mattress. As he sat up and turned he saw the room better, but his mind was still whirling with the fact that he was alive.

Did Howard find him, he thought. Had the self-proclaimed genius triangulated his position from his last transmission? It made sense but something didn’t just feel right. Then it slowly dawned on him: the Game. He recognized those calls. He turned to the radio to try and confirm it, looking out the window to the buildings across the street before he looked at the radio on the vanity. The buildings looked flat, almost colorless too, and the sounds from outside didn’t seem right, almost like they were coming from a speaker. But before he could contemplate it more the game caught his attention.

                _‘Three runs’ll score, Reiser heads to third, Durocher’s gonna wave him in. here comes the relay but they won’t get him.’_ Suddenly the door opened and a young woman walked in, breaking his concentration in trying to place just when that game was.

                “Good morning,” she said calmly, as she closed the door. Then she looked at her watch and revised her statement, “or should I say afternoon.” She stopped a few feet away from the bed and Steve instantly saw that her dress was wrong. The way it fell across her chest was too rounded and flat for the brassieres he had seen in the USO and the way she stood was almost military. Her tie was too wide and non-regulation for a woman in the military.

                “Where am I,” he asked trying to keep his tone calm and non-hostile. His mother raised him to be a polite young man, no matter if she may be a HYDRA agent he wasn’t going to make her uneasy until he knew for sure what was going on. She paused for a half a second before she answered, and from what he remembered of Peggy and Bucky’s teaching in interrogation, he knew what was about to come out of her mouth was a lie.

                “You’re in a recovery room in New York City,” she said with a bland smile. Suddenly he became aware of the game again.

                ‘ _The Dodgers take the lead eight to four. Oh, Doctor! Everyone is on their feet.’_ Barber called, and with all the sudden clarity of a vision, Steve could see the field: the Dodgers clamoring onto the field and the fans all on their feet and shouting with joy. He could see the Phillies in their uniforms being overwhelmed by the Dodgers clamoring onto the field to pile onto Reiser. He could hear the cheers of the fans and he could hear Bucky screaming with the best of them on his right; his popcorn and peanuts on the ground in his haste to get to his feet. ‘ _What a game we had today folks, what a game indeed.’_ Suddenly Steve knew when the game was and he knew without a doubt that she was lying.

                “Where am I, really,” he demanded as he looked back at the woman. She looked flustered but hid it well, and that really got the hairs on the back of his neck on end.

                “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she answered with a nervous smile, and Steve knew without a doubt that she was no ally and that he was not safe.

                “The Game,” he explained, “it’s from May, 1941; I know ‘cause I was there.” The fake agent suddenly went pale and her eyes widened. She realized they had made a mistake in underestimating him and tried to keep herself calm. He face went blank and cold, ad Steve just knew she was going to try to spin the lie again but he wasn’t buying it. Slowly and with every bit of his height, Steve stood up from the bed and loomed menacingly over her. Steve felt a twinge of regret at doing it, and his ma would be rolling in her grave if she knew he was threatening a woman, but he had no choice. If she was HYDRA he couldn’t trust her. “Now, I’m gonna ask you again,” he said in his most threatening voice and he took two steps towards her and loomed with all his menacing height, “Where am I?”

                “Captain Rogers,” she started But Steve wasn’t going to let he lie again.

                “Who are you?!” he demanded. A second later two thugs, or guards, entered the room through the door. They wore strange black armor and carried stranger guns, with black baseball caps on their heads. They stepped behind the woman and loomed behind her. Steve took them in with wide eyes and quickly assessed their strengths and his odds. It took less than a second for him to realize he had to get out of there as fast as he could, and that meant through the thugs, or to make his own door.

In the split second it took for one of them to raise his gun, Steve chose the latter. He grabbed both men and knocked them back through the opposite wall with a strong kick. The wall crumpled and fell into pieces like cardboard and he dove out after them. A quick glance showed him that his instincts were right, and that it was a soundstage before he bolted for the door, the real door, leaving the men rolling on the floor and groaning.

                “Captain Rogers, wait,” the fake agent called as he ran for the double doors on the other side of the room. Steve forced the metal doors open with all his strength and broke whatever lock was on them as he rushed for the outside. The woman’s voice sounded through an intercom a second later. “All Agents, code 13. I repeat: All agents, code 13.” Steve had just reached a main hall with windows when her alarm got the attention of the men in suits in the hall. One of them called out and pointed at him, and Steve realized he was screwed if he didn’t make tracks and fast. He flailed for a moment on the slippery floor and booked it for the doors knocking down men in suits and armor that got in his way, shoving them aside and down; not even stopping when he reached the open doors and rushed out onto the street. The street was full of pedestrians and strange cars, but Steve didn’t give himself a moment to contemplate or look at his surroundings and took off down the street. He ran down the side street and out into an open square and as he turned and looked up, a sick realization caused him to slow and stop. He looked up and all around him, and suddenly he realized why everything looked eerily familiar: he was in Times Square.

This was New York. He was home. But it looked nothing like the home he had left behind two years earlier. This New York was full of flashing lights and moving pictures on bill boards all in bright living color. There were signs everywhere, but under the flash and flair Steve could see the bones of his city, just buried very far beneath. He turned around twice and stared, barely realizing that he was also being stared at as he tried to wrap his head around how his city could change so much in so little time. Suddenly multiple large black cars blocked his exit, and agents in the same black armor poured out to block his path. Other agents dressed in suits pushed back the crowds as Steve heard a voice call out from behind him.

                “At ease, Soldier,” the man commanded. Steve turned, still on edge and on guard as a tall black man with an eye patch on his left eye approached him. This was obviously the leader, and if he was, he was most definitely not HYDRA; after all HYDRA were Nazis and they made it perfectly clear what they thought of colored men. “Look I’m sorry about the show back there, but…” he said, and paused for a moment, “we thought it was best to break it to you slowly.” The man seemed sympathetic to Steve’s plight but this only confused Steve more.

                “Break what,” he asked his brows furrowed as he slowly panted, still on edge. The man didn’t answer and looked at Steve with an almost sad look in his eye, before it vanished behind a blank mask.

                “You’ve been asleep, Cap,” he said, “for almost 70 years.” Seventy years; the knowledge hit Steve like a ton of bricks, but as he looked around at all the changes to his city, it sank in that the world had changed while he slept. Then with a great well of sorrow building up in his chest, he realized that all his friends would either be old or dead.

                “Did we win,” Steve asked with a weak sense of hope.

                “Hell, yes,” the man answered, “unconditional surrender.” Steve looked around at the city that had won the war and lived through so many years that he had missed, trying to wrap his head and heart around these new facts.  “You gonna be okay,” the man asked not unkindly.

                “Yeah,” he answered, “Yeah, I just…” Steve started his heart finally breaking in two as he realized he broke his promise.  And with a hoarse and quiet voice, his heart falling into a thousand pieces, he said to himself, “I had a date.”

~*~

* * *

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endnotes: well… what do you think?  
> I watched that scene too many times just to get his thought process right, but I hope I conveyed his grief as he realized that he missed his chance with Peggy. That last little clip was taken from the extended version of the scene. I like that his first reaction after realizing how much time had passed was to ask about the war, I just didn’t like the rest. It was just too pushy to me. I want Steve to have that thought in his mind that he can still quit and go home without being trapped in the role of the Captain forever.  
> The other stuff was just me pulling on some of the ER shows I watched when I was younger, and some of the other medical dramas I have seen. The big wake up scene was always ambiguous to me. But once I started looking at period costumes and clothes, looking at the scene I could tell that the biggest give away that something wasn’t right wasn’t the game, it was the woman’s bra! She was wearing a modern bra under period clothes. And Steve isn’t stupid, he lived with those chorus girls for months on the road, he had to have seen something. And probably blushed as red as a tomato afterwards, how shy he was. (So sweet) so yeah, the bra would have clued him in and then the game would have clinched it.  
> I hope you like this and please comment if you have thoughts.  
> Next up: Steve meets Yasha.


	3. "I'm Your Son."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> father and son meet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: this is a chapter I have been looking forward to for a while. It is the aftermath of Steve’s little breakout and him finally meeting his son. This one is more about Steve gaining a support system and a loving family that wants him, and not the Captain.  
> I hope you like.  
> On to the fic

~*~*

* * *

 

The man, Nick Fury as he introduced himself as, ushered Steve back towards one of the large cars. At first Steve was dubious that all those soldiers, agents, would fit. But after one of the suited agents opened the door, he saw just how roomy it was. He gingerly climbed into the back seat and sat down by the left door. The door was shut with a soft thunk behind him and another man took the space on the right side.  Steve leaned back in the seat like he was in a cab and tried to take stock of just what was going on. He was in the future, nearly seventy years if Fury was to be believed. He’d survived the crash and was frozen solid until they thawed him out like a side of beef. He missed the turn of the millennium, by quite a few years, and was now in a world so changed that he hardly recognized his own city. He felt overwhelmed and tired, and everything below the belt was sore.

Steve frowned and pressed a hand to his lower abdomen. It didn’t feel any different but for some reason it felt sore and tight; like he’d had too many crunches, or like it felt right before a cycle. And when that thought popped into his head he suddenly went pale. The baby! Steve looked up franticly and surreptitiously pressed the hand tighter to his belly searching for the bloat he had felt just before the mission. Sure enough it was still there, and Steve let out a sigh of relief; dropping his head back onto the back of the seat.

                “Buckle up, sir,” the agent in the driver’s seat said. Steve gave him a confused look through the rear view mirror, and saw the indulgent smile in his eyes. “Your seat belt, buckle it up.” Steve looked down and saw there was a buckle on his right and on his left he saw a belt that came over the shoulder. He looked over at the Agent in the opposite seat and saw him demonstrate. He pulled the strap with a metal clip over his shoulder and inserted it into the clasp, creating a chest and lap belt. Steve cautiously grasped the metal clip and pulled it across his lap and pressed it into the clasp. He felt a low click and after a few inspecting tugs, he pulled the belt tight across his lap and over his shoulder; just like the other agent’s.

                “Didn’t have anything like this in your day, sir,” the agent in the opposite seat said. Steve looked up and gave him what he expected was a slight deer in headlights look. The smile on his face was pleasantly amused and Steve cocked him an embarrassed smile.

                “Oh we did,” he said with a smile, “it’s just, they were only lap belts. This,” he said as he tugged on the chest strap, “this is new.” The agent in the driver’s seat smiled and turned on the car. It didn’t rumble a few times before it turned over, but rather it simply started; coming to life with a gentle rumble rather than the throaty roars of the cars he was used to. It was different, and so was the ride back to the building he had just broken out of. For one, it was rather quiet, and two: he didn’t feel every bump and pothole on the road. It was kinda nice, actually. It figures that the car companies would finally make a car that had better suspension than those old jeeps and army trucks that rode worse than a wagon with a few springs.

Steve sat quietly in his seat as they drove into an underground garage and pulled up to a door. Steve watched the agent unfasten his belt and copied the procedure, but before he could figure out where the door handle was the driver had already opened his door. Steve blushed but smiled gratefully as he exited the car; letting him close the door before escorting Steve to the double doors. It turned out that they were elevator doors, and Steve watched with childlike fascination as the agent pressed a button and the elevator moved, all on its own; no operator or lever at all. The ride up was short and quiet, but before he knew it they had arrived on their floor. Steve followed them out onto what appeared to be a hospital floor. If a hospital looked like it had glass windows instead of walls and lots of fancy looking equipment all around.

The agents led him down this glass hall hospital, which they told him was their medical and lab floor, towards what looked a bit more like what he expected from a hospital: white painted walls and desks, and doctors milling about in white lab coats. Except he didn’t see any nurses, or at least not the ones he recognized as nurses at first. When he thought of a nurse, his mind always went to his mother; all dressed in white with a paper cap on her head. She always looked like she was wearing a white coat with no sleeves cinched at her waist over a plain dress. His mother always like a little color and had worn the rich dusty blue underneath it well. These nurses didn’t even have the white paper caps anymore, or even the white smocks, but rather pale green or blue, or sometimes pink linen shirts and pants with white shoes. They didn’t remind him of nurses or his mother, but he supposed that if they were comfortable and could do their job, that was all that mattered. But still he missed it, just a bit.

They led him towards a private exam room near the end of the hall, but before they got there, they were blocked by a dark haired young man arguing loudly with a doctor. At first Steve thought him a patient, until he saw his clothes, all black tactical pants and shirt that reminded him of nights spent around a fire in occupied Europe, and at once realized this man was a soldier. The group stopped and shifted nervously as the obviously very angry, or rather frantic, soldier screamed at the doctor in front of him.

                “I don’t _care_ about your _damn policies_ , _or_ HIPAA,” he screamed, and Steve noted the quite thick Slavic accent under a Brooklyn-esk drawl. The young man looked positively frantic, with his hair askew and his eyes positively wild and red, as he gestured wildly about with his hands. “He’s family, I have to see him!” the young man seemed to wilt a bit looking defeated and so lonely. “Please, doc. He’s all I have left! I have to see him.”

                “Oh crap,” Steve’s guard cursed quietly, “Yasha’s on the crusade.” Steve looked at his guard and the rest of his escort and they all looked hesitant, some might even say scared, at the prospect of having to get past the soldier in front of them. They all collectively flinched when the soldier, Yasha, jerked his head up like a dog hearing a whistle and turned his head to them. Suddenly Steve felt like he couldn’t breathe, as his eyes widened in shock and he felt his face go white. Yasha looked so much like Bucky it hurt. They had the same shape to their eye-sockets and cheek bones, making their eyes and brow look the same, but Yasha’s eyes weren’t Bucky’s icy blue but rather a brilliant silver blue with a luminous quality he had seen in only a few others. One of whom had helped Steve with his plans. He was longer in the face than Bucky, and had a slightly different chin and jaw line, but he had a dimple in his chin just like Bucky and the same dark brown hair; it was even parted the same way. The essence was there, but mixed in with the rest it was jarring. Suddenly with perfect clarity, Steve recognized that cut of the jaw, the shape of the chin and mouth, hell even the slant of his nose was the same. It wasn’t Bucky he was seeing in Yasha’s face, though the resemblance was remarkable, it was Fëanor.

The last Steve had knew, Fëanor had only one living son, Adrian, and he would only be barely above adulthood, and far too young to be anyone’s father. But Steve couldn’t explain it other than this young man was Fëanor’s grandson. Heedless of the escort around him, Steve walked up to the young soldier with open curiosity and shock. Yasha on the other hand, just stood there. The deer in headlights look was gone, but the open awe and joy on his face made him look that much younger in Steve’s eyes.

                “Who are you,” Steve asked. The young man looked at him with tear-filled eyes, hope shining within them like a brilliant fire. He was about Steve’s height and slightly broader across the chest and shoulders; Not very noticeably but enough for Steve to see, and catalogue.

                “Russian experiment project no. 3,” Yasha said blankly his voice dull and mechanical, “sample no. 7038-32B.” then after a moment his eyes looked up into Steve’s and suddenly Steve saw himself in those eyes, hoping for acceptance wanting a place and belonging. He swallowed hard and with tears in his eyes Yasha said, “I’m your son.”

You could just about have heard a pin drop, that’s how quiet it suddenly got. The escort stared at Yasha with newfound awe and Steve could see out of the corner of his sight the doctor go stiff and panicked. But none of that mattered to Steve; all that he could care about was the young man standing in front of him with new clarity. Yasha had Fëanor’s eyes, and fiery spirit, and he had Steve’s smile. He was so shocked that he didn’t even realize his mouth had opened and he currently resembled something like a fish.

                “How,” Steve asked his voice barely a whisper, “when…oh… oh God. Oh, my God,” Steve stuttered as the weight of Yasha’s statement caught up with him: he had a son! And as quickly as the shock came over him it was replaced with incandescent joy. A wide teary smile pulled across his lips as he finally saw himself in the boy standing before him. It was subtle, nothing overt really; something that you wouldn’t see unless you were looking for it. It was in the way he stood, straight backed and his chin high, proud; in the cut of his shoulders, the lines of his hands, clenching and unclenching at his sides: the same thing Steve would do when he was stressed. “My son! _Ai, Yonya, ná vanë!”_ (Oh, my son, thou art fair.) Steve sobbed and placed a gentle hand on Yasha’s cheek, feeling the softness. ‘ _Ilvana,’_ he said. _(_ Perfect _)_ Overcome with joy Steve lunged forward, startling the agents and the doctor, their witnesses, as he wrapped his boy in a bone crushing hug, sobbing and smiling. Suddenly his whole world wasn’t gone, he had a piece of it right here in his arms; living and breathing, and crying against his neck. Steve pulled back and took Yasha’s face in both his hands, seeing the bright wide smile on his face and the tears running down his cheeks. Like his mother once did to him when she was so happy he was alive after a bout of the flu, Steve laughed and rapidly pressed kisses to Yasha’s cheeks, nose, forehead and then hair before pulling him in and pressing his lips to that dark crown and swaying back and forth as he let his tears run into the locks. Yasha clung just as tightly, his face hot against Steve’s neck as he shuddered and shivered through his own shock and tears.

                “Ada,” Yasha said softly against Steve’s chest. And didn’t that just make his heart leap like a gazelle for joy in his chest. Oh, how he never thought he’d hear those words from another living being directed at him. “I never thought I’d get to see you,” Yasha confessed and Steve hugged him just a little bit tighter, hearing how broken it was. “But you’re here! You’re here at last!” Yasha let out a shuddering breath, and with tears in his eyes, Yasha whispered against Steve’s neck, “I love you, Ada.” Steve suddenly felt weak in the knees and he clutched to his baby boy, all grown and strong long before he ever saw him, praying that he never had to let go.

                “I’m here, yonya,” Steve murmured against Yasha’s crown or hair, and pressed his lips tightly against the head. “I’m here, and I ain’t goin’ nowhere!”

~*~*

* * *

 

When the two finally part it isn’t because they want to, but because they need to. Doctor that Yasha was talking to before Steve had interrupted his fit, cleared his throat and smiled tightly but good naturedly when the two looked up from their curled positions against one another. Yasha smiled in a slightly embarrassed manner, before he reluctantly pulled away. Steve slowly let go of his little boy, and turned to the doctor.

                “Captain Rogers,” he said softly, “if you would please follow me, we’ll do our exam and you two can get to know each other after.” The doctor gave Steve a genial smile as he gestured to the room opposite himself.  Steve looked at Yasha and saw the pleading eyes and couldn’t say no.

                “Yasha too,” he asked, and when the doctor gave him a hesitant look, Steve pleaded, “please, doc, he’s the only family I’ve got.” The doctor suddenly found himself under the full weight of Steve’s pleading puppy dog eyes, and couldn’t bring himself to say no. He reluctantly nodded and motioned the pair towards the room. “Thanks, doc,” Steve beamed.

                “Yasha,” another man said timidly, and the pair turned to find a relatively young man with dusty blond hair and blue eyes standing behind them.

                “Jake,” Yasha said with a winning smile. He pulled the young man closer, as he wiped the tears from his face. “Ada, this is Jake. He’s my best friend. We were in the Army together.” Steve couldn’t help his shock, but he quickly shook it off with the oncoming swell of pride he felt for his son. Jake stepped forward and held out his hand.

                “Jake Cowens, sir,” he introduced himself as, and Steve took his hand with a smile, giving it a good hard shake. “Yasha and I were in the Rangers together. We met at base one day when I was a fresh faced recruit and we’ve been pals ever since.” Jake laughed, “We stuck together in the army, and he dragged me with him to SHIELD when we got out.” Steve smiled, proudly, until the name suddenly rang a bell.

                “Cowens,” Steve asked, “you wouldn’t happen to be related to Richard Cowens?” Jake smiled wide.

                “Yeah, he was my grandpa,” Jake confirmed with a wide smile. “He was in the 107th back in the war. Got hurt at the Bulge and went home. He’s the reason I joined the army. He told me about you when I was growin’ up, said you saved his life.” Steve grinned.

                “Yeah,” Steve said, “he was one of the lucky ones that made it out of that place alive. I’m glad he got home alright. Is he… still around?” Steve looked hopeful but Jake shook his head.

                “He died the day I turned 18,” he answered, “I joined the army the next day. I wanted to make him proud.” Steve hung his head slightly with sorrow before his head snapped up when the doctor cleared his throat. Steve smiled sheepishly when the man jerked his head into the exam room, and nodded.

                “Well it was nice meeting you, Jake,” Steve said, “Maybe we can talk later.” Jake nodded and turned away but not before resting an encouraging hand on Yasha’s shoulder. Yasha smiled as Jake passed but his eyes immediately turned to Steve with a happy gleam. Steve returned the smile and nodded his head towards the exam room. Yasha quickly followed behind Steve into the room, shutting the door as he entered.

~~**~*

* * *

 

Steve climbed up onto the exam table and folded his hands in his lap. The doctor smiled genially and took a seat in the stool in front of him. Yasha, full of nervous energy and happiness, stood beside Steve and rested a gentle hand on Steve’s tense shoulder. Even the mere touch of his son seemed to pull the tenseness out of his child, and Steve felt himself relax just a little, even if his mind was still reeling from everything that had happened.

                “Captain Rogers,” the doctor began, and Steve stopped him.

                “Please,” he asked, “call me Steve.” The doctor smiled at the captain’s informal-ness and continued.

                “Steve,” he began again and this time continued with a more cautious tone. “Were you aware that you were… with child, when you went into the ice?” Steve’s eyes widened slightly, before he cast his gaze down to his clenched hands in his lap. When he finally spoke his words were quiet and subdued.

                “I didn’t know for sure,” he answered after a long quiet moment.

                “Can you give me an approximate date of conception,” the doctor asked, and Steve huffed out a laugh with a wry smile on his face.

                “I can give you the exact day,” he said, and looked up, his eyes sad but full of strength, “December 25th, 1944.” The doctor nodded and then tapped something out on the strange typewriter beside him. When he looked up it was with a satisfied smile.

                “That’s quite specific,” the doctor commented, to which Steve smiled wryly.

                “It was an artificial… insemination,” Steve explained, with some hesitancy, “the father gave his… sample,” Steve blushed beet red and continued after clearing his throat, “and Stark did the procedure, with … Bucky’s help.” The doctor hummed in satisfaction before making not of this and moving on.

                “So that would have made you around four to five weeks, to your best estimation,” he asked, to which Steve nodded. Steve puzzled on the doctor’s words for a moment before he spoke hesitantly with some confusion.

                “Did the baby make it,” he asked. The doctor sighed and chewed on his lip for a moment.

                “That is a difficult question to answer,” he said, “the short answer is, yes the babies survived, and no.” Steve looked up sharply with widened eyes at the use of the plural. The doctor saw his shocked face and caught on quickly. “You weren’t aware you were carrying multiples?”

                “No,” Steve said shaking his head numbly, and pressing a hand to his still taut belly. “How many,” he asked weakly.

                “You were carrying four,” the doctor said and Steve’s eyes widened in shock at this number, but he calmed himself and let the doctor finish. “We believe that they were a set of identical twins, but it’s difficult to tell. Only two of the babies survived the reanimation, the rest were lost… miscarried.” Steve felt his eyes water and well up before he squeezed them shut and let go with a sigh. The doctor rested a comforting hand on Steve’s knee and catching his eyes. “I’m sorry,” said sympathetically. “My colleagues and I have studied the scans and kept a close eye on the other two, but… it’s our professional opinion that only one… might make it to term.” Steve dropped his eyes and sniffled through his nose to try to clear it, and calm himself and swallow his tears. “You gonna be okay?”

Steve smiled brokenly and let out a laugh that sounded closer to a sob, but wretched it back under control before he could begin sobbing in earnest.

                “It’s just a lot to take in,” he said, as he kept his breathing calm. The doctor smiled wanly and gave Steve’s knee an encouraging squeeze before he let go.

                “I have one more question,” he said, “you can answer or not, only if you’re up to it.” Steve nodded, and wiped the tears off his face quickly.

                “What’s the question,” he asked with a quiet and hoarse voice.

                “Who’s the babies’ father,” the doctor asked. Steve looked into the distance with a soft sigh, and faint smile.

He remembered a sly smile and sharp silver blue eyes, set on a face very much like his father’s, crowned with a head of locks so pale a gold they looked like corn silk. He remembered a hound with a golden mane who sat nearly level with Steve’s shoulder when he was sitting. He remembered a sharp tongue and quick mind, helping him scheme up an idea for ensuring his retirement. But Steve also remembered a soft smile on his face while he held his youngest brother in his strong arms. Yes, Steve remembered the best of him, but he also remembered the tales of his worst. When his soft gentle smile turned cold and cruel, and when his epithet turned from The Fair to the Cruel. Steve knew all this and yet it still made him sad to know him long gone, and naught but a memory from a long begotten Age.

                “Captain,” the doctor said, breaking Steve out of his reverie, “who is their father?” Steve sighed and clenched his jaw, and gone was the sorrow of a lost man. In its place was the grim determination of a man willing to do anything to protect his unborn child; even from the scorn of the past.

                “His name was Turkafinwë Tyelkormo Fëanarion,” Steve said with a blank voice, his eyes as cold as the ice they had taken him from, “Celegorm, in the Sindar tongue. He’s long dead.”

 The doctor, taken aback by Steve’s blank voice and cold eyes, nodded and let the matter drop. The doctor turned back to his notes before he stood up and handed Steve a vial and syringe in a clear packet.

                “This was given to us by a Numenorean Healer,” the Doctor said. Steve’s head snapped up in shock.

                “They’re still around,” Steve asked with hopeful eyes. The doctor had to smile at Steve’s obvious joy over this news.

                “Yes,” he said with a laugh in his voice and smile on his face, “the Numenoreans are still around and they’re here to stay. You’ll receive all the information you need to know about them in your briefing packet before you go.” Steve looked at him in confusion as he took the packaged Hypo syringe and vial of medicine.

                “Go,” Steve asked.

                “it’s called The Retreat,” the doctor informed, “it’s a place out in the country for agents that need mandatory leave, but still need to have an eye kept on them for a while. It’s just for a few days, maybe a week or two; just until you get on your feet.” Steve smiled gratefully at the obvious thought and concern that went into that plan, and nodded in acquiescence before he held up the package and vial with a raised eyebrow in askance.

                “And this,” he asked. The doctor laughed and began to explain.

                “The Numenoreans formulated that for mothers expecting multiples,” he explained. “I believe you might already know a bit about it.”

                “Yeah,” Steve confirmed, “they call it um… they called it Elvish Breath. It’s supposed to speed up the growth of an unborn child, and help boost their physical strength, especially for small babies. It’s also given to preemies to get them to grow faster and strengthen their weakened immune system. If I had been born in Numenorean lands, my healer would have given me this,” Steve explained as he held up the vial. “But I was born in Brooklyn, and Numenoreans were hunted at the time, so it was too risky for any healer to set up shop; even in the states.” The doctor nodded.

                “Our research indicates that Erskine began his Serum research after getting his hands on a vial and seeing what it could do,” the doctor explained. “It probably explained why it worked so well on you and not on others.” Steve nodded and mused for a moment, remembering what his mother told him about the formula.

                “Yeah,” Steve said, “it only works on Numenoreans, not regular humans. Mom thought that it had to do with our elvish blood, but there was no proof or research to back this up. The Numenoreans had been experimenting with it during the reign of Ar-Pharazon, but the Fall ended that pretty quickly. Almost all the research was gone. Some tried to continue the research, but… we simply didn’t have the means here, so we didn’t.” the doctor smiled and moved to his notes. He picked up a pair of reading glasses and perched them on the end of his nose.

                “The healer said that you are to inject yourself once a day for the first week,” he explained, “then twice for the rest of the regiment. The amount is to be one half filled syringe, approximately 25ml of liquid; so about 12 to 13ml used. Do you know how to inject yourself,” he asked looking at the Captain, his spectacles. Steve smiled. He thought it made the doc look more approachable, which was probably why he did it.

                “Yeah, I do,” he answered calmly.

                “Good,” the doctor nodded, and continued to explain, “These injections are to be done directly into the uterus as close as we can get to the fetus. Since they are twins you’ll need to two this twice, with half in one and half in the other. We’ll show you how, if you’re not sure, and provide you with an ultrasound machine to do it accurately.” Steve smiled and sighed in relief. He had no idea what this doctor was saying but if he was shown what to do once, he could it himself just fine.

For once he was glad for the perfect memory and recall the Serum gave him, because it was going to be a long day.

                “One more thing, Steve,” the doctor said breaking him out of his musings.

                “Hmm,” Steve hummed, and looked up again and saw the doctor smile warmly.

                “Would you like to see them?”

Steve’s face broke into a wide smile, his eyes sparkling with mirth and joy, as he nodded. Maybe today wasn’t going to be so bad.

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endnotes: ta-da, I hope you liked this. I have no idea what I am saying for all that medical mumbo jumbo, but I had to make it sound good.  
> I also liked the idea that the Super Soldier Serum was based on a formula the Numenoreans had created to save their children. Thanks for reading and please comment.  
> Kudos would be nice.  
> Next chapter: Hithlum


	4. Hithlum; the land of the Men of Numenor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve sees the future of his people and claims his birthright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: this chapter is mostly Steve settling in, but I just had to have him meet Arthadan in person and claim his birthright at long last. You’re going to see a very different side of Steve in this chapter, more noble and gracious and a lot like Aragorn or Faramir. So think of this as almost OC for him but you still see the Steve Rogers part shining through, just a little more polished than the kid from Brooklyn.  
> On to the fic

~*~

* * *

 

The retreat is rather nice, Steve thinks, but he’s a city boy through and through, and so the beautiful country side and wide open forests are nearly lost on him. Oh, he does appreciate the beauty, but he’s spent far too much time in European countryside’s being shot at with bullets and rained on by shells to truly enjoy the country just yet. It’s still too fresh, too near for him to truly relax. At night he finds himself waking at odd hours without knowing why until on his second day into his stay he realized that he was waking up for his shift on night watch. After that he poured himself into reading about the future and what had changed. When he was shown the computer in the room when he first arrived, he couldn’t believe how small it was, and he almost found himself wishing he could show Steven this little marvel. Then he would remember: Steven was gone; missing in action, his body never recovered. Just like Bucky. And he found himself holding back tears as a new and wholly different grief took hold. After he kept waking up, Steve would go to the computer and read the documents preloaded onto the thing, but after five nights of waking to do watch, he had run through all the things he wanted to read and then some. That was when he discovered the internet, and a whole new world opened up in front of him, rolling out before his feet like red carpet.

See, the thing is, SHIELD didn’t know about Steven’s gifts or his ideas that he had shared with Stark and the others, so Steve caught onto how to work the search bar rather quickly. Steve was no idiot, unlike what his test scores from school showed, and he soon found out about Hithlum, and Arthadan. It took a little work but he eventually set up an email account with Google of all things, and sent a message off to a Numenorean who had a website for his art online. It wasn’t long, less than a few hours in fact, before Steve heard the trill of his notification bell. Steve opened the email and to his shock it wasn’t from the artist but from the King’s second, Eäthnur Híraklion; General of the Numenorean Host. Steve was shocked to say the least but cautiously read the letter and was pleased that the ancient half-elf lord was going to spirit him away to Hithlum to recuperate there. The only problem was SHIELD and how they would react to his little escape. But he had little time to ponder this, when suddenly a large plane descended from the sky with all the grace and maneuverability of an eagle.

Steve stared at the plane in awe. SHIELD had nothing on this plane, and though their QuinJets had obviously had a similar base plan, this was far more sophisticated and beautiful than their clunky versions. The skin was painted a black except for the belly, which bore the image of Thorondor, the Great Eagle of Manwë, his wings outstretched and his beak open in a screech. On the side of the plane was a designator in elvish Tangwar and English letters. The back of the plane dropped open and lowered a ramp, out of which a tall dark haired man flanked by six Numenorean Royal guards. Steve saw the insignia on the man’s armor and knew that this was the famed Híraklion, the Eagle of Numenor, for his armor bore the badge of a Great Eagle, wings outstretched and talons clutching a sword and a crown. This was the Right hand of the King, his captain of the Guard and personal advisor. Steve bowed low at the waist at such and honor, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

                “Captain,” the man said. Híraklion had a voice that was rich and deep with an accent that Steve instantly recognized from his father as Numenorean. Steve looked up and saw the six Guards kneeling before him with their heads bowed and touching their swords. “You bow to no one,” he said as Steve stood up and looked him in the eye. “My Prince,” he said as he bent his knee and bowed as well. Steve blushed, not used to this sort of treatment, despite being famous and knowing about his heritage for about a year now. He shifted nervously and motioned the bowed men to rise.

                “Please, get up;” he said uncomfortably, “I don’t deserve this.” Híraklion stood with a humoring smile, and the others did the same, falling into parade rest; their hands resting on their drawn swords.

                “You deserve all of this, my Captain,” Híraklion said, his eyes full of warmth; “you saved my life, and the lives of all of my men. I owe you this, and more.”

                “Where,” Steve asked.

                “Volgograd,” Híraklion replied, and Steve nodded, remembering the reverent faces he saw when he rescued those soldiers.

                “Technically,” Steve countered good naturedly, “that was Bucky.” Híraklion smiled wide and chuckled.

                “You are just like him,” he said and smiled warmly at Steve’s confused look, “Arthadan; you are just like him. And you’re father,” he explained. Steve looked up with hopeful eyes.

                “You knew my father,” Steve asked.

                “I knew all the men of your father’s house,” Híraklion said, “From Arthadan’s firstborn to your father, and his brother. I knew them all.” Steve smiled sadly with longing in his eyes before he looked at the man with a bright smile. Híraklion answered it with one of his own before gesturing towards the back of the plane. “Shall we go?”

                “Go where,” Steve asked with confusion.

                “To Hithlum, of course,” Híraklion explained with honest devotion, “we came for you, Captain. We came to bring you to the king.” Steve’s eyes widened on the spot as realization set in.

                “The King,” Steve asked in shock.

                “Yes, the King,” Híraklion confirmed. Steve huffed out a breath through his lips as he mulled it over, before he tightened his jaw in determination.

                “Alright,” he said, “I just need to grab a few things and leave a note, in case they miss me.” Híraklion nodded and conceded the point.

                “Very well,” he said calmly, “take your time. We are not in any hurry.” Steve smiled tightly before he turned back into the house and gathered up some things. A change of clothes, his Mithril chainmail shirt as well as his dog tags with his family signet ring looped through the chain, and the Star of Arthadan pendent on its Mithril chain. It was meager as belongings went, but at the moment they were all he had so he packed them up, looping the two chains, one simple steel the other precious Mithril, over his neck before he grabbed a piece of paper and scratched out a simple note.

                To Col. Nick Fury, SHIELD,

Sir, I am sorry to leave like this, but I’ve been invited by the King of Hithlum to meet him in person. He sent his Royal Guard to fetch me, so there is no need to worry about my safety. I am in the best of hands. If you need me for anything, I will be bringing that wireless radio thing you call a phone with me.

Tell my doctors that I will take my medication as directed and I will be under the constant supervision and care of the best physicians in all the living world.

Yours truly,

Steve Rogers, Capt. USA

Steve signed the letter, and grabbed the contraption called a cellphone as well as his medicine before he shouldered his bag and walked out the door. He closed the door and left the Retreat behind him as he entered the Numenorean plane, but not before pinning the note to the front door, where his minder would see it when he came by to check on him later as scheduled.  The hatch to the jet closed behind his Guard and as it took off, Steve felt for the first time able to breathe more easily since entering that house. He couldn’t figure out why, but it always felt like someone was watching him. Steve shook his head and relaxed into the seat he’d taken, finally able to get some peaceful rest whilst guarded and watched by people he could one day call friends.

~*~*

* * *

 

Steve was correct in thinking that neither SHIELD nor Fury would be happy with his disappearance. In fact, his minder just about had a panic attack until he saw the note tacked to the door, and then he got indignant. He reported Rogers’ escape to Fury and sat and sulked until the tech crew could arrive to look at the security footage. Needless to say they quickly understood Steve’s cabin fever, as well as his discomfort at being in the middle of nowhere, when all he wanted was to go home. But the footage of him leaving from the outside cameras was suspiciously snowed and they could see little from the indoor ones, just Steve packing his meager belongings into a suitcase, putting on his dog tags and that pendant of his, writing his note and taking his cellphone and medicine just as he said he would.

The techs tracked the GPS in the phone to somewhere over Europe before the signal was scrambled; suspiciously over Hithlum airspace. Fury had to concede that Steve was gone for the time being, but would be back if the language in the note was anything to go by. So the let the captain go, and dropped the issue. Fury made sure to have a missive sent to the Hithlum embassy to inform them that Steve would still need to come back for a full debrief, but Fury wasn’t expecting anything to come of it.

~*~*

* * *

 

The moment they entered Hithlum airspace, Steve could almost feel the difference in the air. It was peaceful almost, a harmony that Steve had felt when he was at Castle O’ Rogers. But this feeling was amplified, like he was standing in a room with all the comfort his soul could ever want and need. It was almost palpable, and it took him a moment to realize it, and what it was: music. In the air there was this quiet humming of music. It was all around, as if from no other source than the air itself. It was full of the voices of harps and violins and violas, bass and drums, flutes and horns of all kinds, all working in deep and beautiful harmony. It was unlike anything he had ever heard before and he couldn’t get enough. It soothed his soul and was a balm to his mind. He felt without realizing, his body relaxing and unwinding from the knot that had settled in his shoulders and chest. He looked up when he heard the pilot call into the tower for their final approach, and saw Híraklion smiling at him.

                “You hear it, do you not,” he stated. Steve nodded with a soft smile gracing his lips wonder as he heard the music change and flow following some great Theme as it worked towards a greater harmony.

                “Yeah,” Steve said, his voice as soft as a sigh, a smile pulling at his lips full of awe and wonder. “Music,” he said. Híraklion smiled his eyes full of joy.

                “Not many can hear it,” he said, “but those that do; they say it is the Ainulindalë: the Great Music. It has always been in this land,” Híraklion explained as he stood up. “It is how we knew this land was for us. A part of Arda on this strange world we can call home. Arthadan and those that had the gift of Music bent Songs of Power to rise up the land and change it to our will, to make it recall the shape of Arda. Mountains rose,” Híraklion smiled and looked out the windows nodding towards them, “and Ondolindë was reborn.” Steve turned towards the windows and found himself standing, his eyes wide with awe and his mouth open and wide.

Mountains rose before them, out of a cloud of mist, shaping what Steve could only describe as the lost Valley of Tumladen. A great river flowed out from the mountains towards the sea, and where the river branched, Steve saw a great city built upon the banks; built on the river and around it. It was almost entirely built with white stone, with silver and sometimes gold capping the domed roofs of some of the buildings. On others it was the distinctive color of tarnished copper green, still beautiful and nearly glowing in the evening light. With all the wonder of a child he knew in his heart that this was Osgiliath; the Citadel of the Stars, just as Arthadan had described and designed it in his youth, his dream come to life. Steve gazed at it in wonder and watched as they slowly flew over the city, picking up an escort on the way.

                “We’re not landing there,” Steve asked, as he looked back at Híraklion, and the ancient warrior shook his head.

                “No,” he answered, “we are going to the Seat of the King: Ondolindë.” Steve felt his eyes widen as he turned back to the view screen and saw them pass over the mouth of the valley, seeing the seven gates, all thrown wide with great masses of people passing through them, before they passed the last and entered the Valley of Tumladen.

                “Ai, Eru,” Steve gasped as he set eyes on their destination.

Before them lie an open valley, wide and flat with high mountain walls protecting three of its sides, but it was the center of the valley which drew all the breath from his body. There, shining like a pearl atop a hill at the very center of the green valley was Ondolindë of old. It looked just like how it was described in all the old tales, its sparkling white walls high and smooth, its towers soaring towards heaven capped with silver and gold, and its buildings breathtaking in their elegant beauty. It looked so fragile, but Steve knew it was strong just from the distance he was at, he knew it was strong. As they drew closer Steve saw smaller villages dotted around the great city, as well as training grounds and short runways for planes. Barracks sat outside the city walls, but they were just as beautiful as the city they surrounded. Steve saw stables and horses being trained on tracks, men in shining mail and armor that looked so light and unassuming but he knew could deflect any bullet. It was magnificent. A city fit for any king, let alone the king of the Men of Numenor.

The plane slowly descended and touched down just outside the main gate. Steve turned around and saw with a start all the men were lined up at the door, their commander at the front and the rest behind; in rows of three. Steve stood behind them, and waited for the ramp to lower. As it did the men in front disembarked in formation following Híraklion out before he turned and ordered his company.

                “Company,” he commanded in a booming voice, “Divide!” the group split into two groups, facing opposite directions, before they waited for orders. “Three paces!” each group took three steps, before halting. “About face,” Híraklion ordered, and the group turned on their heels to face one another, “Present Arms!” Swords were drawn and held out blade point down. Steve realized that this was more than just an escort, this was his honor Guard, and with a crimson blush, Steve walked down the ramp and through the rows; the Guard saluting him as he passed. When Steve finally came to the end of the row he let out a sigh. “At ease,” Híraklion commanded and the Guards sheathed their swords.

Steve saw then that there was a man standing a few steps away behind Híraklion with a woman on his arm. Steve felt all the blood drain away from his face as he took the man in, and if not for a little more age on his face and his slightly more slender build, he man could have been his own twin. Steve swallowed hard as he realized that he was just presented before the King of the Men of Numenor: Arthadan.

~*~*

* * *

 

The King slipped away from his wife and approached Steve, his blue eyes shining like twin stars, full of joy and life. His hair, the same golden brown which crowned Steve’s head, hung long about his face resting on his shoulders and pulled back in elvish fashion at the temples. He wore a rich blue tunic, embroidered with a silver star on his breast. His under shirt hung below his knees, and was hemmed with silver and red bands, and his cloak was dark blue velvet that was nearly black, embossed with the Star of Arthadan in red and silver thread, and it too was edged with silver and red bands. The underside of the cloak was lined with sliver silk and hemmed with red bands of embroidered ribbon. The clasps of his cloak were the Mithril and gold clasps shaped into a crest of feathers like wings. His vambraces were the typical Numenorean eagle wings, and upon his brow was the Crown he had crafted with Celebrimbor in Eregion all those thousands of years before. He wore no armor but for the bracers on his arms, but every inch of him exuded the image of a King.

Steve stood frozen as Arthadan stopped before him and took him in; his eyes roving over Steve’s form with awe and joy. Suddenly Arthadan met Steve’s eyes and all pretense of a distant king was gone. In its place was a man seeing his descendant with the eyes of a father upon a lost son. Arthadan reached out a tentative hand and touched Steve’s cheek. He gasped softly and his mouth pulled into an astonished smile. Tears pooled in his eyes as he cupped Steve’s cheek with his palm.

                “Steve,” Arthadan said with a wide smile. Suddenly the man lurched forward and pulled Steve into a bruising hug. “My son,” he whispered into Steve’s ear, and Steve could feel the smile in it. “Welcome home!” suddenly Steve felt tears of his own springing to his eyes as he slowly brought his arms up and returned the enveloping embrace with vigor. For the first time since he woke up in this mad world, he felt at peace, and he realized: he was home.

~*~*

* * *

 

After a few days of sequestration and pampering, Steve was presented to the Royal Court as Heir apparent of the King. They approved his claim after a few hours of deliberations; a record for them. Once the Houses of Lords and Commons accepted his claim, it was sent to the senate for further approval. This all in total took a further three days, before the Council as a whole confirmed his claim. Then there was three more days of preparations and planning before on the tenth day after Steve’s arrival to Hithlum and Ondolindë the great gates to the city were thrown wide and the people, who had been pouring into the valley, were let into the streets of the city.

Steve spent this time in private with the King and Queen, asking questions about his house and things about his duties as the Heir apparent of the King. Arthadan answered them as best as he could, and the Queen gave him all the mothering and love he could ever want, while she fretted and primped, and prepped him for the big day. The Rangers were sent to retrieve the Armor of Arthadan from the Rogers’ estate, and a diplomat was sent to invite members of the other Houses of Old Numenor, who lived outside Hithlum, to come to the capital. As he waited, Steve learned about what had happened after he had crashed the plane into the ice. The announcement of his disappearance and status as missing in action had finally shocked the last remnants of the Numenoreans into action. They threw down their weapons and turned on the Nazis with a vengeance. It is said that the Russians had only just beaten the Army of the Men of Numenor to Berlin, and that the knowledge that the great and unstoppable wrath of the Numenoreans was bearing down upon them was what pushed Hitler over the edge and into suicide.

In a way, Steve was glad that his actions had done something other than create despair in his friends. It united the Numenoreans as a people for the first time in almost a thousand years. Their desire for justice and to honor his memory, and avenge his death had driven the Allied forces in a spear front towards victory. It was something that hadn’t been done since the last War against Rome when Arthadan had lived, and Rome was at the height of its power and hubris.

Finally the day arrived. Steve could honestly say he had never expected to be crowned the Prince of Hithlum, but here he was, standing before a mirror wearing Arthadan’s Armor, the Star of Arthadan pendent openly displayed about his neck with the signet ring on his dog tags. Steve huffed out a calming breath before he pulled on the ceremonial helm and strapped it in place.

                “You look so handsome,” the Queen said. Steve turned and saw her standing in full elvish regalia, dressed from head to toe in royal blue velvet. She looked every inch the Queen she was, with her dark hair braided simply and a beautiful circlet wrapped around her head. She smiled and approached, reaching out a hand to rearrange the hem of the outer robe to lay flat against his chest. He felt so out of place, but her calm hands comforted him. She looked up and gave him a watery smile. “You look every bit his son,” she said and Steve returned her smile. The Queen, Sarah Míriel, she had asked him to call her, looked back down and continued tugging and brushing the thick Mithril cloth into lying properly until it met her high standards.

Until that morning, Steve didn’t even know that the thick satin-like cloth that came with the armor was really Mithril Cloth, a rare and expensive cloth woven from spider silk wound around Mithril wires that were woven together in a thick tight cloth. It was so very rare, usually only made in Eregion and the secret of making the cloth so thin and pliable was known only to the best smiths of the region: chief among them Celebrimbor. So when Eregion fell they took the secret of Mithril cloth with them to their graves. What little cloth that had survived with them was treasured and the Numenoreans valued their heirlooms more than anything. This cloth was made by Celebrimbor for Arthadan to go with his armor and thus it was one of the few sets that actually saw battle. Steve learned though that the smiths and weavers of the region had slowly uncovered the secret to making the thread to weave the cloth again, and it was no longer so rare. In fact, it was part of the standard kit for a Numenorean Ranger and infantryman. Steve smiled and ran his hands down the smooth and soft fabric, wondering how something that felt so delicate could be strong enough to stop a bullet as good as any Kevlar vest.

Steve looked up suddenly when the door opened and he saw Híraklion standing in the doorway.

                “It is time,” the man said, his face stern and calm. Steve nodded before he reached down and picked up the scabbard and sword setting on the sofa. He carefully strapped the belt on around his waist along with the quiver, and sheathed the sword. He picked up his shield, one which a diplomat had spent hours in argument with SHIELD for him to get back, and slipped it onto his arm; the straps new and lined with Mithril cloth for added strength. Steve secured the Shield with one final tug before he gave Híraklion a firm nod.

                “I’m ready,” Steve said with his head held tall. The Captain of the Guard nodded and bowed his head respectfully placing a hand over his heart, before he lead Steve out of the room and into the long hall.

The pair walked down the hall, flanked by six Royal Guards and two banner men. They walked down the hall towards the door, and as they approached the two guards at the doors opened them and swung them out wide, revealing the Great Hall of the King in all its grandeur filled with courtiers. Lords and Ladies, diplomats and nobility from different countries, as well as common folk, and members of the Royal Council, Houses of Commons and Lords and the full Senate, all packed into the hall and its upper levels, clamoring for a glimpse at the Famed Captain America, the Prince and Heir apparent of Arthadan.

When the doors swung open they groaned slightly on their massive hinges, but were otherwise silent. It was silent for a moment before a group of trumpeters raised their silver horns to their lips and announced his presence with a Royal march. Suddenly the whole of the room stood and turned as one to face him. Steve swallowed down his apprehension, and set his jaw with determination. Steve saw out of the corner of his eye, as he began to march slowly down the aisle, television cameras and crews at the edge of the room, and on platforms surrounding the Great Hall. Steve had no doubt that this was being televised outside the hall and in the Great Square where most of the people, who had come, were standing.

He approached the throne and watched as the Guards turned in opposite directions and formed and Honor Guard as he passed between them. As he passed them they all bowed their heads and placed a closed fist to their hearts, a variant of the elvish salute. Steve stepped up towards the representatives of the Council and stopped. The two men were decked in Numenorean regalia, dressed to the nines in their finest robes and tunics, and in the case of the Lord, his ancient Numenorean family armor. Steve removed his helm and unsheathed his sword before he bent knee and bowed before the two heads of State.

                “As representatives of the Council and the Senate,” the Lord announced in a loud clear voice, “we ask: who are you?” Steve took a deep breath and looked up, remembering this from practicing with Arthadan and the Queen. Sword held before his bent knee, Steve gripped the hilt tightly and mustered every bit of the stubborn courage he had from the war.

                “I am Steven Grant Rogers,” Steve proclaimed in a loud clear voice, mindful of his annunciation, and very aware that he had slipped into a Numenorean accent, “Son of Joseph Arathan Rogers and Sarah Tinuviel Rogers, formerly of the House of Beor; son of the House of Arthadan by the decent of his first born son: Aaron Laurion. I am come to claim my inheritance as rightful heir of the House of Arthadan.” The two Councilors smiled before the Lord spoke again.

                “We recognize your claim, Steven son of Joseph of the House of Arthadan,” the man said and bowed his head, “and humbly present it to you.” With that the two Councilors parted and a priest of the church came before him.

Steve looked up with eyes closed as the man began to pray and anoint blessings upon him before dipping his fingers into some oil and anointing his head with it; making a cross upon Steve’s brow. This was a tradition that started with Christianity but it was similar to the older one that it was easily accepted as part of the ceremony.  The priest moved away with a bowed head, and behind him was Arthadan himself, resplendent as a king should be, dressed in fine silk velvet in dark blue and silver and red. The Crown of his line sat upon his head as well as the mantle of state. He looked stern and distant, nothing like the man Steve had come to know in the past week, but Steve saw it in his eyes when he finally smiled.

The king turned and at his side was Híraklion holding a blue and silver velvet pillow, and upon the cushion sat a crown. It was nowhere near as fancy or ornate as Arthadan’s, but it was still a circlet fit for any prince. Steve bowed his head and felt Arthadan slowly lower the crown to rest upon his brow. He looked up and was met with a beaming smile from the king, to which he returned.

                “Lords and Ladies of the Court,” Arthadan announced in a booming voice, “I present to you Steven Grant Rogers, Son of the House of Arthadan by decent of my blood.” Steve stood and turned, Arthadan placing a hand on his shoulder before he called out in a great voice, “From this day henceforth, he is my heir, and shall be known as Rínion Arthadanion, Son of the King; Captain-General of the Numenorean Army of Hithlum, Captain of the Rangers, Grand Duke of Mithrim, and _Crowned Prince_ of the House of Arthadan! Long live Prince Rínion in peace and prosperity!”

                “Long live Prince Rínion,” the assembled crowd cried back, “Long live the King!” and from the crowd came a great roar of cheers, as Steve and Arthadan bowed their heads as one and stood together, Steve on a lower step and Arthadan before the very throne. The cameras flashed and Steve held his head high, only wishing his father was here to see this, before Arthadan pulled him away and towards the great stairs that lead to the balcony. Once Steve reached the doors, Arthadan threw them open and walked out, letting Steve stand in the shadow of the door as the King announced his presence to the assembled crowd.

                “My people,” Arthadan called out, his booming voice echoing off the stone of the valley and being heard for miles. “It is my honor to present to you, Steve Rogers Rínion Arthadanion, Crowned Prince of Hithlum!” and the people in the Great Square let out a thunderous cry as Steve stepped into the light, and the Star of Arthadan upon his breast blazed into light, bathing the courtyard and city in the Light of the Two Trees. From afar, people said it looked as if a star had descended from heaven to shine its light upon the valley and bless it and their new prince. Those closer saw the Star of Arthadan, the shards of the Silmaril resting upon Steve’s breast and began calling down praises and blessings for their prince and king. Those closest said that Steve looked like one of the Ainur come down in living flesh, for his skin glowed with elven light, and his eyes blazed like twin stars in the light of the Silmaril shards, small though it was.

                “Utúlie’n aurë,” (the day has come) a man in the assembled crowd cried, and soon the whole of the assembly began to chant, “Utúlie’n aurë,” over and over, until the whole of the valley was overflowing with the echoes of their cries. Steve grinned and over the din of their many voices he called back, his voice over powering them all and echoing throughout the vale.

                “Auta i lómë!” (The night is passing.) And from this call came a thunderous roar, for the crowd knew his words echoed those of High King Fingon of old, recalling the joy of hope and confidence that the darkness was truly past. For them it had another meaning: they had security in their King’s rule, an heir to take on after he stepped down, and a Man of legend returned beyond the hope of many to bring with him the light of dawn.

~**~

* * *

 

The SHIELD diplomats had to hand it to the Numenoreans, when they had a coronation, they went all out. The courtyard and Great Square just in front of the Royal palace were packed full of people, young and old, Numenorean and Hithlum citizens alike. Being sent as the diplomatic envoy for SHIELD and the US meant that he had a front row seat for the actual coronation ceremony, and it did not disappoint. While it didn’t have the pomp and circumstance of Queen Elizabeth’s coronation, it was every bit as grand. When he saw Captain Rogers walking down the aisle slowly and with sure steps, he hardly recognized the man, and it wasn’t just the Numenorean armor and clothing that he wore either; which he learned were actually Arthadan’s and were and heirlooms of Steve’s family for two thousand years. It was the way the Captain carried himself that had changed. Gone was the timid and unsure man they had brought out of the ice and in his place was the confident and powerful lord Prince of his people. Steve’s very core exuded strength and surety, and the diplomats couldn’t grasp why. Until they saw the way he smiled at Arthadan when the crown was placed on the Captain’s head, then they got it: Steve had security and assistance in his family. Who knew just how much that had meant to the man until it was gone, but it showed just how much it meant now.

After the ceremony and the presentation to the people, there was a party, and it was grand! The whole of the Great Hall was turned into a ballroom floor where the courtiers danced to Numenorean waltzes and Elvish dances. There were tables of food assembled for the guest to pick at and eat, and they had heard that the celebrations going on out in the city were akin to VE Day in London or VJ Day in New York when the War ended. There was dancing and singing and drinking, and partying like nothing any of them had ever seen outside of newsreels, and word was that this was happening all throughout the country, not just the capital. It was shocking but understandable: these people just got back their beloved prince; of course they were going to celebrate. And the celebration was slated to continue for a full week. But Steve had no desire to party non-stop for that long. After the initial celebrations had ended, Steve would be going back to New York to rest.

And after celebrating for a full day, shaking hands with diplomats and courtiers, learning to dance with the Queen to a traditional waltz, drinking and eating, Steve boarded the Numenorean jet that had brought him to Hithlum to go back to SHIELD and New York. Steve arrived at sunset on the 28th of April to his SHIELD set up apartment with all his things hoping for a little rest until his babies were born. Alas, this was not to be. The minute he got back he found a stack of files on his table as well as a laptop with preloaded videos. Steve went through the files and videos with detached grief, before turning in for the night.

His sleep was too brief to be called rest and before dawn he had looked through the files again, glancing over at the phone, thinking about calling Peggy, before he put it out of his mind. He went into the city, enjoyed some coffee, and a bit of sketching time, but his heart just wasn’t in it, especially after his lack of understanding about technology came back to bite him. When he returned to his apartment Yasha was waiting for him, and Steve greeted his son with a wide and warm smile, pulling the younger man into a fierce hug. The two talk until Yasha has to go home, but they both promise to meet again. The next day is more of the same, but after Yasha and his adopted brother Jonathan had left, Steve went back out to wander the streets of Brooklyn. It was in this wandering that he found an old piece of the past, his past, still preserved for him to see. Goldie’s was a little rougher than he remembered but it still had some of the old charm left in it that it felt familiar. Almost on the spot Steve rented a locker and time to work at the gym to let off steam before he slept.

He found that it was his little hideaway. His little sacred piece of the past that he wanted to keep away from the scary world that he had been thrust into. And he just hated it when SHIELD had to go and ruin his sacred places.

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: and to think I had marked this for a possible deleted scene. I think this was one of my best chapters yet! Well, you’ve all seen Endgame, and you all are a) still crying, or b) ranting about how some of it is all unfair. But I haven’t seen it, I haven’t seen Infinity War, and frankly I don’t want to. I’m not going to have those films influence this series any more than it has to. But have no fear; Steve’s end will be just as sweet when it comes. You just have to wait for it. (Evil cackle)  
> So next chapter will start the ball rolling for the very first Avengers film, hard to believe it’s been almost eight years since it came out. I saw it twice; once with my family and then when I went back to college they played it on the lawn. I think I still have my ticket stub in my purse! I know I still have the first Iron Man. Wow I feel old!  
> Next chapter will be very long, so please bear with me.


	5. May Day, Mayday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: this chapter really needs no introduction: the Avengers people! I hope I get this right. Please tell me if I do not.  
> On to the fic

~*~*

* * *

 

On the morning of the first, Steve had been awoken by a strange churning in his gut, and after a moment of lying in bed he got up and put the notion out of his mind. After his first shot of the day he stripped out of his clothes and showered. He was just about to grab his towel when he felt it again, a strange feeling, and not unlike nervous jitters in his gut. Steve swallowed back on the sudden rise of nausea he felt and grabbed his towel. Just as he was rubbing himself dry he felt it again: the flutter. Steve stopped and looked down at his belly. He slowly pulled the towel away and realized for the first time that there was a very small but noticeable curve to his abs now. He looked up at the mirror and turned to the side, looking at his profile and realizing he was correct: he had a bump. It was subtle and not very noticeable to anyone else but he saw it. With a soft smile curling on his lips, Steve placed a hand on the bump and pressed a little. Firm was the thought that came into his mind: it was firm. And as he was caressing his bump he felt the flutter again this time stronger and Steve at last could pin point the location: the bump. Steve nearly dropped his towel his shock when the reality hit him: he was feeling the baby move. With a grin that could light up Manhattan Steve looked down lovingly at the change in his body.

                “Hi sweetheart,” he whispered, “did I wake you up?” he felt a flutter and Steve chuckled around his teary smile. “It’s okay sweetie, I’m sorry. I’ve got some things to do, but I’ll try not to disturb you any more than I have to.”

Steve felt a soft nudge before his womb went silent again. He laughed and shook his head but from what little he remembered from the healers he would be nearing the half-way point in the development, so it should not have surprised him so much that he finally felt the babies move. But it did, and he was so happy. He quickly got dressed and left the bathroom, all the while smiling like a lovesick fool. But Steve didn’t care if he had a dreamy smile on his face or that every now and then he placed a hand to his abdomen just to feel the change and sigh at it. Almost against his will, Steve found himself dreaming about his future; about little hands grabbing at his hair, dreaming about the soft smell of milk and baby powder; about hearing the giggles of a child as it ran across his room. Steve smiled and let himself dream about his retirement and the family he would finally get to raise. He let himself hope that he could finally get what all his friends got after the war: peace and a family. And as he put on his family heirloom, the Star of Arthadan and his dog tags with his family signet ring, he finally hoped he could have a chance to become Steve Rogers again, and leave Captain America behind for good.

But alas this was not to be, for not all hopes and prayers come true, and not all dreams have a happy ending; as he was about to find out.

~*~*

* * *

 

Steven was just finishing up tracking down a lead on an old acquaintance, (one of his Old Masters,) in Germany no less, when he got the call. Steven looked away from his lead and over at his phone with a sour look. When he looked back, he gave the man a bland smile and held up a finger.

                “Hold that thought,” He said, “I’ll be right back.” The man tied to the chair was shaking in fear, covered in cuts and bruises, and his hands broken; all of this from the fight that he gave Steven before he became strapped to the chair. Steven smiled blandly before he turned around and grabbed a gag. After making sure the man was thoroughly silenced, Steven turned back to his phone and answered.

                “This had better be important, Jonathan,” Steven said tightly, “I was in the middle of something.” Jonathan didn’t answer for a moment but after a long breath he found his words.

                “There’s been an incident,” Jonathan said. Steven rolled his eyes and glared over at his prisoner as he tried to shout through his gag. The man suddenly had a sharp knife pointed at his genitals with nothing holding it but air. He looked at Steven with wide fearful eyes, and Steve returned it with a cold smile.

                (“Do that again and I’ll remove you of something really important, am I clear,”) Steven telepathically told the man, and he nodded when Steven emphasized his point by pressing the knife a little harder into the man’s balls. The man nodded quickly and the pressure was removed. (“Good.”)

                “There’s always an incident somewhere with SHIELD, Jonny,” Steven replied with a sarcastic chuckle.

                “Steven,” Jonathan said and paused, “this is a level 7.” Steven went rigid and stood up straight from leaning against his table, with one little sentence, Jonathan had focused his entire attention on the phone in his hand. Level 7 meant something catastrophic had happened, and Steven needed to know what it was before it bit him in the ass.

                “What happened,” Steven demanded. Jonathan sighed in relief.

                “Are you alone,” he asked. Steve looked over at his captive with an appraising look, assessing his worth, finding it lacking, before he delved into his mind and took what he needed. It wasn’t much, but more than he had on his Ada’s location and that of the Programmer, before he turned his attention back to the phone. He stood completely still, his shoulders tight, and then quick as a cat, he drew his gun out of its hip holster, silencer and all, and shot the man in the head; all without taking his attention away from the phone in hand.

                “Now I am,” Steven said blandly before asking in a much more stern voice, “now, _what happened_?” he grit through his teeth, focusing his ire on his brother’s lack of answer.

                “Someone’s taken the Tesseract,” Jonathan replied quickly and with no small amount of agitation. The news stunned him into silence and made the short hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It felt like someone had poured ice water down his back, or that he was being frog marched down to his cell in Siberia again; being forced into that cold cell, chained and left to starve. Steven went rigid and his grip on his phone tightened to the point of fracturing it, before he let out a breath and let go of his fear and anger.

                “When,” Steven asked as he began to telekinetically pack his things away and unbind his dead prisoner.

                “Last night,” Jonathan answered, and sighed, “there’s more.” Steven paused and rolled his eyes with an incredulous sigh.

                “How could it get much worse,” Steven asked rhetorically with a wry laugh.

                “Barton’s been compromised,” Jonathan answered, and Steven froze. Steven knew what that word meant to them, not just compromised physically but mentally as well. Flashes of his Ada in the Chair flooded his mind before he stamped them down those thoughts ruthlessly. “Fury’s calling in the Avenger’s initiative.”

                “What happened,” Steven asked, when the shock cleared.

                “I don’t know,” Jonathan said meekly, “I was monitoring communications coming from the PEGASUS project when I suddenly intercepted a transmission call for Fury’s presence at the compound. Apparently the Tesseract just turned itself on.” Steven felt his eyes widen on their own accord.

                “Turned _itself_ on,” Steven asked incredulously.

                “Yeah,” Jonathan answered, “it was quiet for a while, but then suddenly all Hell broke loose. I catch part of an alarm for the immediate evacuation of the base and then after Fury arrived there was an energy spike. Steven,” Jonathan said with a fearful voice, “it was just like when you helped those guys a few years back.” Steven nodded. He knew what his brother meant. The Winchesters’ were a bunch that always managed to find trouble. He was lucky to have found them and give them a job offer before Fury gave them the sales pitch. They were smart, they knew the deal of a lifetime when it was placed in front of them, so they took his proposal, and had been working with him ever since.

                “Go on,” Steven said, tightly.

                 “A few minutes later and the signals coming from the base were just…,” Jonathan started then finished with a helpless sigh, “gone.” Steven started and looked down at his phone in shock.

                “Whaddya mean, ‘gone’,” Steven asked incredulously.

                “I mean, Steven, it’s just… gone… the base was destroyed,” Jonathan said still sounding shell shocked and shaken. “I looked, through a satellite link, it’s gone. There’s nothing left of that base but a giant crater.” Steven felt as though his blood had turned to ice in his veins, and he checked just to make sure his brother hadn’t misread the footage, and saw that, sure enough, Jonathan was telling the truth. Where the PEGASUS facility had once been, the base the houses, even the giant satellite dishes, were all gone, and nothing was left but a giant crater full of rubble.

                “What happened next,” Steven asked calmly in a quiet voice. Jonathan swallowed and cleared his throat.

                “Fury put out an all hands on deck,” Jonathan stated, and he sounded almost scared, “and said that it was a Level 7. He said that we’re at War.” Steven felt his breath hitch in response before he forced himself to remain calm as he packed away the last of his things and left the warehouse.

                “I’m heading back to New York now,” Steven said and heard Jonathan’s sigh of relief on the other end. Steven smiled and knew that his little brother was seeking his big brother’s guidance and strength. “I’ll be there as soon as I can inform Arthadan of this incident. If Fury’s calling in the Avengers, then he’ll bring in Steve. Arthadan deserves to know that his only heir is about to be pulled into a conflict.”

                “I’ll talk to you when I get more news,” Jonathan said. “Bye.”

                “See ya in a few, Jonny,” Steven said and hung up.

Steven stepped into the cockpit of his QuinJet and with only a wave of his hand the ramp closed and the systems turned on, the lights blinking on and screens coming to life. He dropped his bag on one of the seats before he sat down in the pilot’s chair.

                “Susie, you there,” Steven asked, as he turned towards the controls.

                _“For you, sir, always_ ,” Susie replied with her Irish lit. Steven smiled, as he flipped a switch and the engines began to spool up. No matter how bad things got, Susie never failed to make him smile.

                “I need to pay a little visit of Arthadan,” Steven told her, “can you inform their Air control that I’m coming in, and that I need to have a private audience with the King?”

                “Of course, sir,” Susie replied, “I am informing them now…. You are cleared for entry into Hithlum air space.” Steven grinned, pulling back on the yoke as he ascended into the air.

                “Good girl,” Steven praised, “keep the engines running after I land, we’re going to need to get back to New York with all speed if we’re going to get on that carrier.” Steven grinned, “We have a boat to catch.”

~**~

* * *

 

Steve had made the mistake of going through the files again. Seeing the pictures of his men, his friends and brothers, with the red letters stamped across their files below their faces just drove it home just how alone he was in this cold new world. He laid aside Morita’s then Falsworth’s, and he couldn’t even look at Bucky’s, bold red letters stamped MISSING IN ACTION below his picture. Steve was sure that Steven’s file would say the same, if they had even bothered to send it. He didn’t know; he didn’t look. He couldn’t make it to the bottom of the stack. Every time he got to Bucky’s face, he couldn’t get past the guilt he felt for his best friend’s death and the screams of his only son as Steven blamed him, and told him that he had left Bucky to die.

He hadn’t even wanted to look at the files today. He was just doing a bit of cleaning, going through his footlocker, which SHIELD was kind enough to keep for him and give back. Actually he should probably thank Howard for that, but Stark was long gone, and by the glance he had of his son’s file, Steve felt that the boy, the man, would probably want nothing to do with him. Steve had found his copy of the comic book he made, the best print they had created, and had indulged in nostalgia. After a few minutes reading and smiling at the antics he and the guys had gotten up to back in the day, he looked over at his clock and realized that it was long since time for his lunch. He put his locker away, carefully placing the precious books and pictures back into the trunk just as he had left them. Lunch was quiet, and left him reminiscing on what had happened and wondering just what his new bosses thought of him. He looked at the strange thing on his table they had called a laptop computer, and was suddenly reminded of Steven’s little invention. The thing was a marvel, and did all sorts of neat things, but it was mostly just for Steven to draw with and preserve his drawings in something that couldn’t get ripped so easily. It was with a touch of regret that Steve realized it was probably gathering dust in a museum somewhere at the bottom of his footlocker.

So Steve indulged in his curiosity and now he regretted it. The footage they showed was no better than the bad movies and USO films he did before he got to the front. It was all about him, and mentioned nothing about Bucky or Steven, or any of the other Commandoes. Steve turned it off half a minute into the film, too disgusted and depressed to watch it all. He finally mustered the courage to look at the files after he took his second shot of the day, and felt even worse, if that was even possible. Just seeing that they were all gone, made his heart sick, and he wanted nothing more than to get on the next plane to Hithlum and never come back. But as nice as it was, as refreshing and soothing as Hithlum and all its beauty was, Brooklyn was home. It was where he was born and where he had expected to die and be buried. It was nice to know that he had a place there, and he knew that Arthadan would drop everything and come to see him if he called and made any inclinations that he was lonely. But Steve felt that he needed to strike out on his own for a while, though it was nice to have someone watching his back.

Peggy’s file brought with it a deeper longing, and a bone deep regret. He thought if he woke up alive, he would see Peggy again, get that dance they talked about and start having what they wanted so badly in the war, but couldn’t have because of duty. Steve was reminded of that old song, When the Lights Go on Again, and the lyrics in the second verse so much when he thought about how it was supposed to end.

_When the lights go on again_

_All over the world_

_And the ships will sail again_

_All over the world_

_Then we’ll have time for things_

_Like wedding rings_

_And “free” hearts will sing_

_When the lights go on again_

_All over the world_

Steve had always felt tears come into his eyes and his throat close up when he heard those words, but he never knew why; now he did, and he hated it. He had his chance and he lost it. He never got his kiss hello, or his wedding ring, and his heart ached to have that back. The only consolation he had was that he was not alone. He looked over at the strange telephone and placed his hand on his slowly growing belly, wondering if he should call her, or wait for SHIELD to give her the news. They told him that her health was failing, and that her memory wasn’t the best at times, and that broke his heart. Peggy was the strongest and smartest woman he had ever known, aside from his mother, and to hear that she had become so frail of mind and body made him want to curl up in a ball in his bed and cry. He looked back at the file and slowly set it aside. He wouldn’t call Peggy. That just wasn’t something he was going to do to her. He didn’t want to shock her too much, and besides it wasn’t something you could do over the phone. No, Steve resolved, once he had settled in better, in a few weeks, he would pay his best girl a visit in person, and maybe get that dance she promised him, and he promised her.

Steve looked at Howard's file again, and wondered how his friend could have changed so much. He sighed and set the page aside and picked up another: Tony, Howard’s son. Steve wondered if he was anything like how Howard had been. From what little he could glean from the file, he sounded like it, and Steve found himself hoping that Howard’s boy would be his bridge into this new and scary world he had been thrust into, with all its flashing lights and strange futuristic tech; some of which Tony had invented. Steve put it down and wondered for a moment if he shouldn’t just pay the kid a visit, before he shook that thought out of his head and reminded himself that he didn’t know Tony and he wasn’t some kid. Stark was a grown man, older that Howard had been when he had last seen him. He didn’t need Steve or his problems showing up on his doorstep, figuratively and literally. Steve looked outside and saw the nice light and thought that he should spend some time outside and away from his drab apartment. Steve grabbed his coat and keys before he stepped out the door. As he turned to close the door behind him, Steve resolved to buy a couple cans of paint and do something about the walls. It felt so dark and uninviting and he was about to have a baby, so a coat of new paint couldn’t hurt; at least in his bedroom. A cool red maybe, or pale blue, he thought. The living room would look nice in bright white or pastel green. It would look nice with the furniture and he wouldn’t have to redo their color either. So with that in mind, Steve locked his door and went to catch the El to Manhattan.

~*~

* * *

 

Steve spent a few hours wandering the streets before stopping for a cup of coffee. He knew he shouldn’t but the healers told him a few cups a day wouldn’t hurt the babies, and even if he couldn’t feel it, the smell still reminded him of better days. When he stopped at the café he couldn’t help but admire the view, and with a pen and scrap of paper he began to sketch. He didn’t even realize how long he was there until the waitress refilled his cup and talked to him. It was nice to know the people had a hero they could always look forward to seeing, even if it was only a flyby. Steve smiled to himself as he gathered his sketch and left her a big tip. She was nice enough, and Steve knew how hard it was to live on tips. Steve knew he wasn’t going to have this anonymity for much longer, and he intended to enjoy it while it lasts.

The ride back to Brooklyn reminded him of all the things he missed, but for now all he wanted was to get a few hours in at Goldie’s to work off some frustration and stress, before he went back to the apartment, preferably with those cans of paint for his bedroom walls. SHIELD was kind enough to tell him they were working on getting his old things back from the Museums where they had ended up, and the first thing he had gotten back was his old cradle. It was old, older than him by far. His mom told him, when he had asked, that it belonged to his grandfather. It was a beautiful white wood carved to look like and angel with outstretched wings wrapping around the sides of the cradle. Steve remembered looking at it and thinking of how pretty it was, and he was ecstatic when he returned from one of his outings to find it sitting in his living room, white wood polished and with fresh paint on the angel. The note had said that they had to strip the paint off, because of the lead, but they had done their best to make it useable again. The little mattress was covered in a reproduction of the cloth that used to cover it, but it looked just how he remembered it. It now had a place of honor next to his bed, always there for him to see when he first got up, and the last thing he saw when he finally fell asleep.

Steve had every intention of doing that, getting the paint, going home, doing his walls, but today had been hard, and he felt grief and stress enough to know that he would be up until dawn again if he went home before he worked it out here. So Steve set up his heavy bag and boxed away with his taped up hands, his punches and jabs getting stronger and harsher and faster as he let his mind wander. The war flashed through his mind and that was the last thing he wanted before he went to bed. So Steve stayed, trying to get the War out of his head so he could get a good night’s sleep, but Steve knew it was useless. Every time he saw the War here, he couldn’t sleep a wink after, so it was better to work himself to exhaustion before he went home to collapse into bed to sleep until noon.

Steve’s punches got faster and stronger until suddenly, hearing a voice he didn’t know, say he was alive; Steve pulled back and punched the heavy bag so hard the chains ripped off the bag and sent if flying across the room. The bag it the floor with a thud and slid into the wall, spilling sand all over as he panted and tried to calm down enough to think. He saw the mess and resolved to clean it up before he turned and went to the row of sand bags he had lined up on the floor. He picked the first one up and hug it on the d link.

Steve took a breath and fell back into his proper stance before he threw a couple of punches and jabs at the bag. Suddenly Steve felt a presence and he knew that Fury had finally come.

                “Trouble sleeping,” the man asked. Steve looked up and over at the imposing man before he turned back to his sand bag.

                “Slept for seventy years, sir,” Steve said sarcastically, knowing that the man knew he had spurts of insomnia and frequent nightmares, but otherwise slept fine if the room was warm. “I think I’ve had my fill.” Steve continued to punch the bag and ignore the man but something just told him that he should listen.

                “Then you should be out,” Fury said as he drew closer, his voice bland and professional, “celebrating.” Steve looked up and looked the man over. Steve turned away and began to unbind his hands.

                “I went under, the world was at war,” Steve said, “I wake up, they say we won.” Steve paused, his heart heavy, “they didn’t say what we lost.” Steve finished removing his bandages and shoved them into his bag.

                “We’ve made some mistakes along the way,” Fury said calmly, and not unkindly, almost apologetically, “some very recently.” Steve flicked his eyes up to Fury, quickly noticed the file in the man’s hands, and knew that in a way he was apologizing. Steve was a practical man, and despite his hopes and dreams he knew it was too much to hope they would let him retire, but he also knew that Fury had no intention of bringing him in whilst pregnant unless it was of absolute desperation.

                “You here with a mission, sir,” Steve asked as he unbound his other hand.

                “I am,” Fury confirmed.

                “Trying to get me back into the world,” Steve asked.

                “Trying to save it,” Fury corrected. Steve looked up and saw the open file, and knew that this was desperation that brought Fury to Steve, and his experience. Steve took the file from Fury’s hands and took a closer look. There in the picture, in full color, was the thing he never wanted to see again: the Tesseract.

                “HYDRA’s secret weapon,” Steve said as he sat down, his blood boiling that it all came back down to that blasted cube again.

                “Howard Stark fished that out of the ocean when he was looking for you,” Fury explained, as Steve turned the page and looked at the older picture and file of the item. “He thought what we think,” Fury said, and Steve looked up to see his face, “the Tesseract could be the key to unlimited sustainable energy. That’s something the world sorely needs.” Steve thumbed through the file and glossed over the data, absorbing the information given. Steve clenched his jaw and also remembered just how HYDRA had used that energy, but Steve pushed that aside. He knew the only reason Fury would tell Steve about this was if they had lost it. He shut the file and handed it back to the scarred man.

                “Who took it from you,” he asked hoping for an honest answer. What he got was cryptic but honest.

                “He’s called Loki,” Fury explained, “he’s… not from around here,” Fury said as he took the file. He looked back at Steve and continued, “There’s a lot we’ll have to bring you up to speed on, if you’re in.” Fury looked down almost reluctant, and Steve knew the man was coming to Steve with his hat in hand asking for help, and he didn’t like it. “The world had gotten even stranger than you even know.” Steve scoffed.

                “At this point I doubt anything would surprise me,” Steve commented as he stood up, a little bitter and a lot angry but not at Fury. He turned towards his bags, and closed them up.

                “Ten bucks says you’re wrong,” Fury bet, with a somber look on his face; almost as if he was regretting bringing Steve into this but not having any other choice. Steve picked up his bag and walked over the heavy bags. “There’s a debriefing packet waiting for you, back at your apartment.” Steve picked up the closest bag and marched away, heavy bag on his shoulder, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth were creaking. “Is there anything you can tell us about the Tesseract that we ought to know now,” Fury asked as Steve walked away. Steve didn’t even need to think about it.

                “You should’ve left it in the ocean,” he said without breaking step.

There went his painting plans.

~*~

* * *

 

When Steven got back, he went straight to the New York office. He could have gone to DC, and Langley, but the NY office held a special place in his heart. It was also a place where Steven would debrief with Jonathan over his brother’s reconnaissance and not bring up any questions as to why Jonathan was coming to the CIA headquarters. When Steven arrived at headquarters, Jonathan was already waiting for him. The two brothers marched silently down the gray painted hallways until Steven stopped before a black door. Steven paused and took a steadying breath. He had been beyond that door many times in the past, but as of late, he had passed it by more often than enter. He’d had no need to go inside, for he was no longer an active agent with in the agency, and on paper, at least, he was only an analyst. But entering that door meant that he was leaving that behind him once more and walking back into the life of blood and death, missions and objectives, targets and debriefs. Steven hated it, but for Steve, for his Ada he would do anything; so with only a slight pause, Steven opened the door and walked inside.

Devinson was standing at the head of the briefing table, and in front of him on either side were two files. Steven walked in and sat down, his brother not far behind him as he closed the door and locked it on his way in. The assistant director of the CIA and Steven’s former handler smiled sympathetically at the younger man before he cleared his throat.

                “I think you both know the reason you’ve been called here,” Jack asked. Steven nodded, with closed eyes and a tight jaw. Jonathan nodded, and looked at his brother. “Jonathan, will you please tell us what you observed?” The younger brother nodded again and swallowed against the nervous lump in his throat.

                “Last night I intercepted a transmission from the PEGASUS facility concerning the Tesseract,” Jonathan explained, and Steven tuned out the conversation, already knowing everything his brother was going to say, but he still listened with half an ear as he pondered recent events. It was no mere coincidence that the Tesseract had a spontaneous event, nor was it that the cube was taken just moments after the event, and that Barton, one of the most loyal and trustworthy people he had ever met in SHIELD had suddenly turned sides. Steven thought and came to the conclusion that whatever had happened, Barton had been brainwashed or was under some form of mind control.  Either way, it was not a thought that Steven liked contemplating for long.

                “Steven,” Devinson said as he tuned back into the conversation. Steven looked up and at his little brother with a sheepish expression. “Go on, Jonathan,” The director encouraged. Jonathan nodded and smiled encouragingly at his brother, knowing just how hard it was for him to even be in this room at all.

                “As of this morning,” Jonathan continued after a brief glance at his brother, “Fury has re-enacted the Avengers Initiative.” Jack’s face became likened to stone for a moment but Steven could see the agitation swirling in his eyes. He nodded once and motioned Jonathan to continue. “Fury made one amendment to his original roster list: Steve.” That statement made the assistant director go pale as marble, as he slumped down into his chair.

                “Rogers,” he said, almost breathlessly as he stared at the dossier in front of him. Jack looked up at Jonathan and asked, “Are you sure?”

                “Positive,” Jonathan replied with a curt nod. Devinson puffed out a long breath through his lips, as he ran his hand through his hair.

                “Alright,” he finally said before he turned his gaze back to Steven. “Captain Buchanan, these are your new orders.” Jack slid the dossier over to the blond before he stood up. “I expect a full report from you both before this is over. Jonathan, you are dismissed. Steven,” he said as the captain began to rise, “I need a word with you alone.” Steven sat back down and shared a look with his younger brother, before he nodded to Jonathan and the younger walked out.

~*~*

* * *

 

When Jack finally exited the room he found Jonathan standing dutifully outside the door. The aging man had to smile at Jonathan’s hesitancy and stalwart loyalty to his family. But then again, he had never met a family quite like the Barnes’. He nodded and let the younger man come close.

                “You’ve been tasked to the Helicarrier,” Devinson asked, and the younger man nodded. “Good. Just remember, kid: you are going to be operating in an environment with possible hostiles. Be cautious, and on your guard. We have no idea how many HYDRA agents are on board that carrier. Good luck, Agent Barnes.” Jonathan smiled and took Jack’s outstretched hand in his own and shook it.

                “Thanks, I will,” Jonathan said and slipped into the briefing room. He shut the door behind him and turned to see Steven’s face a cold blank mask as he stared down at the dossier in his hands. Jonathan sat down beside him and waited for his brother to finish before he spoke. “Fury’s going to be on the carrier,” Jonathan said and looked his brother in the eye. Steven looked cold and distant, and so unlike the brother he had known all his life. For a moment he wondered if this was what Steven was like before he’d left field work behind; probably.

                “Wouldn’t expect anything less,” Steven replied his eyes sharp and calculating in their intensity. Jonathan swallowed down the lump of sudden fear and pressed on.

                “They’ll be conducting the search for Loki from the bridge,” Jonathan added, “I’ve been tasked with helping with the face trace.” Steven’s face remained passive and cold before suddenly his lips pull into a smirk. It wasn’t much but it made him look more human and less like a cold robot, and it eased the tight knot in Jonathan’s chest just a little bit.

                “Well then,” Steven said smugly as his smirk grew, “Fury just got one more passenger.”

                “Who,” Jonathan asked, as his brows scrunched up in confusion. Steven just gave him his characteristic knowing and self-satisfied smirk before he answered.

                “Me,” Steven said, and Jonathan’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Steven gave him his patented version of their Ada’s grin and explained. “Captain Steven Buchanan has just been tasked to SHIELD as liaison officer in training and handling of former enemy agents. As such he’s been given a level 8 clearance access, and as such has been tasked to the Helicarrier. Mostly my job will be to, officially, spy on Fury and train STRIKE team operatives to capture freelance assassins like Natasha used to be. Unofficially,” Steven paused with a colder look, “I’m there to assess the rot in SHIELD and see if the Agency can lance some of it out.” Jonathan smiled in relief for a moment.

                “Steve’s going to be there,” Jonathan said, and Steven snorted in amusement at his brother’s sudden protectiveness.

                “Jonny,” Steven said with a fond tone, “my telepathy and telekinesis can allow me to look different to the people I don’t want to know. It’s like a glamour; an illusion that I am a deferent person. All I need is to look like I did when I visited him to make Steve believe my cover; no more. And if, when things get heated, I’ll leave a clone and go out in the field as the Knight. As long as I remain conscious and focused, he won’t recognize me.” Steven’s eyes softened and he leaned over to pat his brother’s knee. “But I appreciate the concern.”

                “Yasha was tasked to be Hawkeye’s backup. They need him, bad. It’s the only reason that they’re aborting his black out mission,” Jonathan said, “he’ll be there.” Steven’s eyes softened.

                “I know.”

~*~

* * *

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endnotes: wow that was long. I don’t know what it is about doing stuff from the film scenes but they always end up being longer than I thought. I hope you liked this and keep commenting, it gives me motivation.  
> Next up the Helicarrier


	6. May the 3rd: Searching for Loki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is a short chapter and the ones all after this are long so, be nice.  
> Steven gets on the Helicarrier, and finally sees Steve again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I hope you are not still reeling from endgame because I’ve got a roller-coaster of a ride ahead for all of you. This chapter has a lot of; well it’s mostly film scenes with my own twist. I think this next one might be short, but I get the feeling that it might not be.  
> This is going to focus on Steven’s perspective, and Steve’s reaction to realizing that Yasha’s big brother is a highly decorated army captain and CIA operative.   
> So, on to the fic

~**~

* * *

 

At first sight, the Helicarrier is nothing special to look at, but Steven knows that looks can be deceiving. He lands on deck in a chopper, which takes off almost immediately after he exited the craft. Steven wove them off before rushing out of the way of the rotors. He looked around deck for a moment before he finally spotted Steve. He was standing by a busty redhead that could only be Natasha. Steven smiled and made his way over to the pair, catching the tail end of their conversation as he got in hearing range.

                “Did he ask you to sign his Captain America trading cards yet,” Natasha asked with a slight smirk to her ruby lips. The look Steve gave her was surprised and a little incredulous.

                “Trading cards,” Steve asked with a smirk that was all Brooklyn charm, in his plaid shirt and leather bomber jacket. Steven grinned and approached the pair.

                “They’re vintage,” She answered dryly, “he’s very proud.”

                “Steve,” Steven called out with a broad grin. Steve smiled brightly, and for a moment Steven was back in 1944, before all hell broke loose, and tore his life apart. The Captain waved him over, and Steven jogged over to the pair. He nodded to Romanoff and gave Steve a quick hug, before throwing his arm over Steve’s shoulder and tugging the man into his side. “It’s good to see ya,” Steven said with an honest smile.

                “Steven, it’s good to see ya again. Yasha’s told me so much about you. I wish we could have talked more that day; Yasha made it sound like we have a lot in common,” Steve replied. Steven smiled warmly at the mention of his baby brother. Steve grinned back and pulled away to introduce him to Natasha. “Agent Romanoff, this is…” but Nat interrupted him.

                “I know who he is,” Natasha said with a bland voice and blank face, “Captain Steven Buchanan, Army CID, and CIA liaison.” Steven grinned charmingly, with a bit too much teeth.

                “You do know me,” he said, before he turned back to the Captain, who was approaching a skittish looking man in a mousey brown suit with a purple shirt.

                “Dr. Banner,” Steve called to the man, who approached the trio with less skittishness then before.

                “Oh, yeah, hi,” he said as he shook Steve’s outstretched hand. His voice was slightly rough and hoarse, and Steven was suddenly struck with the impression that he looked like an ordinary college professor. “They told me you’d be coming,” he said as he let go of Steve’s hand.

                “Word is, you can find the Cube,” Steve stated, and Steven had to roll his eyes slightly at Steve’s straight forwardness.  Steven saw the doctor glance over at them and look around nervously.

                “Is that the only word on me,” he asked hesitantly.  Steven glanced at Natasha and saw her listening to her earpiece before he looked back at the good doctor.

                “Only word I care about,” Steve answered honestly, and Steven saw the respect and gratefulness in Banner’s eyes as he looked back around.

                “Must be strange for you,” Banner asked honestly, gesturing to the carrier’s deck, “all this?” Banner fell into line beside Steve and Steven flanked the Captain.

                “Well,” Steve hedged looking around at the troops on deck doing their morning jog and the deck hands working on the planes, “this is actually kinda familiar.” Suddenly Steven felt a rumble in the deck and looked down as his senses told him something mechanical was moving.

                “Gentlemen,” Natasha interrupted, “you might want to step inside, in a minute: it’s gonna get a little hard to breathe.”  Steven then felt a shift and smirked as an alarm started to sound.

                “Flight crew, secure the deck,” an officer sounded over an intercom, as Steven finally heard the loud groan of large mechanical pistons coming to life and moving. Steven saw Steve’s face shift with awe as he walked closer to the edge of the deck.

                “Is this a submarine,” he asked with wonder.

                “Really,” Banner snarked,  with a sarcastic smirk on his lips, “they want me in a submerged, pressurized metal container?” as the pair approached the edge of the deck Steven could feel the changes taking place, but even with the knowledge of what this carrier was, Steven felt in awe over the mechanical wonder that he was witnessing.

Steven felt even more respect and awe for the engineers that designed it as he looked over the edge of the deck with Dr. Banner and Captain Rogers and saw the sea churn under the force of the turbines as they lifted out of the sea and rose into place. The turbines locked and began to spin, the deck jolting as they were slowly lifted out of the sea and into the air. Steve took a step back, awe in his face as he glanced at the turbine then at Steven. Dr. Banner on the other hand, was less enthused.

                “Oh, no,” he said dryly, sarcasm back as well as the grin, “this is much worse!” Steven pulled away from the edge with a little more respect for SHIELD’s engineers and gave Steve a smile that reflected as such.  The deck jolted again as the Helicarrier finally lifted itself fully out of the sea, and the trio decided to take Romanoff’s advice and moved towards the tower with the rest of the deck personnel. Steven saw the crew securing the jets with cables and ties before they stepped through the deck doors and into the bridge.

~*~*

* * *

 

When Steven walked onto the bridge, after a quick detour, it was to a flurry of motion. He watched the crew with passing interest and all but ignored the constant chatter that came with bridge operations before he heard Hill speak.

                “All engines operating,” she announced, “SHIELD emergency protocol 193.6 in effect,” she turned to Fury and finished her report, “we’re at level, sir.”

                “Good,” Fury said and looked up before ordering, “Let’s vanish.”

                “Engage retro-reflection panels,” Hill ordered. Steven could practically feel the panels activating. It was a rush like no other, feeling the flow of electricity as the panels activated in a wave, slowly overflowing the vessel and changing its skin to be all but invisible from sight.

                “Reflection Panels engaged,” Jonathan confirmed and glanced over at his brother with a slight smile. Fury turned around and approached Steve and Dr. Banner.

                “Gentlemen,” he said as he walked towards the table. Steve approached the man with absentminded awe, as he slowly pulled out his wallet and handed Fury a ten dollar bill. Fury smirked at the bill and stuffed it into his pocket. Steven approached and finally caught the director’s eye.  Needless to say, he looked less than thrilled to see him. “What the Hell are you doing on my boat?” Fury barked. Steve turned around and saw Steven smile blandly at the one eyed man. Steven walked up to the director and handed him the file in his hand.

                “Nice to see you too, Nick,” Steve replied blandly. Fury scowled at the younger looking man and opened the file. After less than a second he looked up with incredulous disdain on his face.

                “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” he asked as he shook the paper at Steven, “now of all times the CIA sends a liaison!” Steven smiled with bland amusement, his eyes twinkling with vindictive glee.

                “Orders are orders, Nick,” Steven said calmly, “I go where I’m told.” Fury scowled and saw Steve walk over to them.

                “Captain Rogers,” he said gesturing to Steve then to Steven, “Captain Steven Buchanan, US Army Ranger, member of Army Covert Intelligence Division, Central Intelligence Agency counter intelligence and counter terroristism analyst, and,” he ground out with disdain, “our _new_ CIA and Army liaison.” Steve took the file from Fury and began to skim through the dossier noting the numerous medals for valor and bravery in combat as well as a few purple hearts with valor. Steve looked up at the younger man with raised eyebrows.

                “I know we met, briefly. I thought Yasha said you worked with Army Intelligence,” Steve said, “not that you are their covert operative, and a spy.” Steven smiled and chuckled.

                “I’m not a spy, Captain,” Steven corrected, “I’m an analyst. I analyze data and intelligence about foreign operatives and run counter intelligence if necessary. I’m not a field agent. Well,” he corrected with a roll of his eyes, “not anymore.”

                “But you were a spy,” Steve hedged. Steven nodded with a wince.

                “Sort of,” he answered and Steve’s raised eyebrows prompted more. “I did a few ops back in the day, but I screwed up, and got demoted to desk duty. I played handler for a little while, but my agent has since retired, so… now I’m an analyst.” Steven smiled just as blandly and calmly as Coulson, and it was very different from the man Steve had discussed with Yasha, after their brief introduction a few days before. Steve smirked, genuinely impressed at the young captain’s credentials, but Fury was less than impressed.

                “I assume that since you’re here,” Fury said snidely, “one of your little attack-dogs will be joining us.” Steven sent Fury a gleaming smile that was all teeth and razor sharp; one that spoke of pure politics, and had an edge that was more than a little unnerving.

                “Oh, he’s already here,” Steve said with his shark like grin. Fury paled a little but otherwise held his cool, and Steven’s smirk slowly lost its edge and became genuinely amused. “Probably skulking around the lower levels,” he added with a chuckle. “He wasn’t too _pleased_ … that we had to drag him into this,” Steven explained with a serenity that seemed natural, if it weren’t for the sharp look in his eye. “After all,” he continued, “he is, _technically_ , retired.” Suddenly Steven’s face became a picture of the Siberian tundra, cold and hard as stone, “and he is not my attack dog,” he said. “He is a trained CIA operative with expertise in mind-control and brainwashing,” then add as an afterthought, “mostly because he’d had every technique known to man used on him for forty years. And if you want to get technical, _Director,_ ” Steven said as he loomed over the dark man, his face once again like stone, “one could say he is no one’s attack dog but his own.” Fury stared back at the man, not wanting to look as cowed by the ferocious man as he felt, before he looked away and Steven let out a smug little huff. “That’s what I thought,” he said softly before he backed away and towards the table.

                “I hope your _agent_ has security clearance,” Fury grumbled. Steven smirked and sat down in the chair at the table, before he leaned back and threw Fury a self-satisfied smirk.

                “My agent has the same clearance as I do, Director,” Steven reminded him, and his smirk pulled into a shark grin with all teeth, once Fury scowled and turned back to Dr. Banner. He won this round and Steven knew it, and he wasn’t afraid to rub it in just a little. Steven settled back and watched with passive interest as Fury traded words with Banner about how to find the Cube. Once Banner had explained what they needed to do Fury turned to Natasha.

                “Agent Romanoff,” he said, “would you show Dr. Banner to his laboratory, please.” Natasha was already moving before Fury had even finished, and just as she passed him she talked to Banner.

                “You’re gonna love it, doc,” she said, calmly, “We got all the toys.”

~*~

* * *

 

Steve smiled when he finally saw Yasha lurking in a corner. It had only been a few weeks since he had last seen him, and already it felt like too long. The young sniper looked more tired than when he had last seen him but then again Yasha was an active field agent. The younger man saw him and pulled away from his perch. Yasha approached Steve with a beaming grin and pulled him into a hug.

                “I missed you,” Yasha said softly into Steve’s ear. Steve sighed at the sound of his voice and soaked in the warmth of his son’s voice before he answered.

                “I missed you too,” Steve replied, and pulled away. “I didn’t see you in Hithlum.” Yasha smiled sadly.

                “I was on a mission,” Yasha said, “black out, no coms. I would have been there if I had known,” Yasha said sadly as he looked at Steve before brightening. “I would have loved to see it in person.”

                “Me too, kiddo,” Steve answered with a small grin, “I wish you could have seen the coronation. It was every bit as grand as the old stories I read as a kid. If I had known, I would have asked Arthadan to try to get you there in time to see it.” Steve looked mournfully at his son, who answered with a touched smile.

                “I know. I got to see the recording,” Yasha said, his eyes alight with wonder, “it was awesome. You looked stunning in that armor. And the speech,” Yasha laughed with a childlike grin, “I had goose bumps when you said that. I don’t think there was a man woman or child in that city who didn’t think you were one of the Kings of Old.” Steve grinned and patted Yasha on the arm before he turned to join Coulson at the railing.

~*~*

* * *

 

Steven watched with a fond smile as Coulson asked Steve to sign his Captain America trading cards.

                “I mean, if it’s not too much trouble,” Phil asked calmly while trying to hold back his inner child.

                “No, no,” Steve said, waving it off. He’d been used to it, but it was a little strange coming from a grown man; his fans were more like twelve back in the day, so this was new. “It’s fine.”

                “It’s a vintage set,” Coulson said, silently preening over his small accomplishment, “Took me a couple of years to collect them all.” Steven snickered at the very proud look on Coulson’s face when he turned to Steve with wide childlike awe. “Near mint,” and there was the pride, Steven grinned under his hand, but his smile quickly turned nostalgic.

A part of him wondered, as sad and old memories of days gone by passed through his mind, if any of those cards had him on it. He was big with the kids, back in the day. He took over Bucky’s spot as Captain America’s sidekick and kids loved him. The dark red coat and the army fatigue pants, paired with his boots and dark blue spats, made him look the part of a soldier, but he was older than the old Bucky in the comics, before he was changed for the older more accurate, mature version and Steven became younger. It was flattering back then, seeing Steve draw him as a young man, barely old enough to serve, fight side by side with the comic book Cap, but now it was a slightly bitter sweet reminder of how far he had fallen before he picked himself back out of the dirt and brushed off his grime as best as he could to become that man again. He hadn’t quite got there, he still had moments were he was more of The Knight then Steven, but he was closer to that man now more than ever; and he was determined to be him again. But sometimes in order to step forward you had to go back, and in this case, Steven had to resurrect a part of himself that he had hoped would stay dead with old Lukin.

                “Slight foxing around the edges, but…” Coulson continued, but was interrupted by Sitwell, and an alarm. Steven sat up and zeroed in on the screen.

                “We got a hit. Sixty seven percent match,” he said, and looked back at the screen before correcting, “Wait, cross match, seventy nine percent.” Steven saw the screen and linked in quickly pulling up the cross match and he didn’t need a program to tell him it was Loki, he knew. Steven stood up and slipped towards the door, glancing out of the side of his eye towards Jonathan, who gave him a simple nod.

                “Location,” Coulson asked, his voice all business, childlike wonder gone.

                “Stuttgart, Germany,” Sitwell said as Steven eased towards the door, “28 Königstraße. He’s not exactly hiding,” Sitwell’s voice faded as Steven slipped out of the room.

                “Captain,” Fury’s voice carried through the door as it began to close, “you’re up.” Steven marched off toward a blind corner to create his clone. It always took a minute to gather enough dust and material to do it, but once it was done, Steven’s own Life Model Decoy could fool even a forensic scientist or the best spy. Steven barely understood how he could do it. Gabriel tried to explain it once, but the combination of magic and scientific phrases gave him a headache. All he cared about was that he could do it and everyone would be none the wiser that the Captain Buchanan that returned to the bridge was not the one that had arrived on the carrier in the first place.

~~**

* * *

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End note: sorry this took so long, but this part is going to be the hardest part to write. Doing actual scenes and dialogue from the movie take me either watching and taking notes like mad, or finding clips to watch half a dozen times to get my dialogue right. I’ll try to get more out as fast as I can, but sometimes I just need to go at it in spurts. I think some action stuff will be done in one go so that I don’t break up the flow with chapter writing.  
> Next up confronting Loki


	7. Loki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fighting Loki, meeting Thor, and Meeting the Knight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: this is my big reveal of Steven’s look to Steve. He has never seen the Knight, and for Natasha she’ll be meeting a ghost from the past she thought long dead. I’ll try to post with a picture.  
> On to the fic

~*~

* * *

 

Steve approached the QuinJet with confident steps, and was quickly met by Agent Romanoff. He didn’t know how she got there without him noticing, just that she wasn’t one minute and then she was. It was a pretty useful trick to have, being able to practically melt out of the shadows like that. The two walked up to the jet in silence, but Steve quickly noticed that there was someone else in the cargo hold, waiting for them. Steve kept his stride but Natasha faltered, just for a second before she kept pace with the much taller man. It wasn’t much but Steve could see that she was on edge, that she hadn’t expected someone to be waiting for them. Steve stepped inside first and finally saw him.

He was sitting in one of the cargo seats, absentmindedly sharpening the knife in his hands. He seemed to be almost cloaked in shadows, more so than even Agent Romanoff, and gave off and air of quiet menace. He was outwardly calm, but Steve could see the slight tenseness to his shoulders and the just tighter than necessary grip he had on his knife. He was in mid stroke on the edge of his blade when he paused for a long moment, before he finished the stroke and sheathed the blade. It was such a clean and smooth movement that Steve barely would have noticed, if he hadn’t been keeping his eyes on the weapon at all times. Steve noted with some shock that it wasn’t a regular knife but an old bayonet from the war. It looked clean and well kept, but old, and most glaringly, well used.

Steve jerked his gaze away from the sheathed bayonet as the man stood up in a long graceful movement. Steve’s gaze went up and noted with some surprise that the man was slightly taller than himself. His hair was the first thing Steve saw, tightly cropped at the sides and back with a long fringe at the top, and it was styled with a classic wave. Steve took the minute to note how it looked very much like something he would have seen on many of his fellow soldiers’ during the war, and with a slight inhale through his nose, Steve realized with some shock that it was tamed with Pomade.  The next thing to be noted was the color: a striking blend of browns and golds that gave his hair an almost honey like appearance highlighted by lighter strands that set his hair aglow like his head was capped with spun gold. Next Steve saw the dark coat he wore, and at first Steve mistook it for black, but once he stepped further into the light Steve saw that it was in fact a deep blood red, so dark in may as well be black, his jacket underneath was the same but only a shade lighter with dark straps and buckles breaking up the shape. It almost looked like a straitjacket but Steve felt that it might actually be made to be supportive in case of a fight and an injury.

The cargo pants were a worn looking black with knee pads and tall boots covered in blue black spats of canvas and leather. He had a utility belt strapped around his trim waist with the bayonet sheath attached on the left and a gun on the right. It was a dark figure in its holster, but Steve could just make out the familiar shape of a Colt .45 M1911 A1. It was a distinctive gun that had been bored into his mind for years and to see it again was a bit of a shock. Steve looked up at the man’s face and saw a set of bright sapphire blue orbs looking back at him set in a sea of pure black. Steve’s gaze widened when he realized that the man was wearing a type of black domino mask so dark and mat that Steve couldn’t even make out the shape of the man’s cheekbones or eye sockets. All he saw was the shape of his eyes and their color on the dark canvas, and it unnerved him. And from the sound of Natasha’s sharp intake of breath when she drew up beside him, it did the same to her too, although, for entirely different reasons.

Steve looked sharp to his left with the sound followed by the click of a hammer and saw Agent Romanoff’s ashen face as she held a gun pointed at the man in front of them.

                “Как ты жив,” she said, her voice wavering with the effort to keep down her fear. (How are you alive?) “Они сказали, что ты мертв.” (They said you were dead.) The man in front of them scoffed in disdain and smirked.

                “They lied,” the man said, and Steve noted the thick Russian accent quickly. His smirk became softer and his eyes lost some of their diamond edge, before he spoke again, “did you really expect them to tell the truth, Natalia?” Romanoff’s gun wavered for a second before she lowered it and uncocked the hammer. She cautiously moved around him and took her spot in copilot seat to the right, while the pilot edged around and took his seat to the left. As the ramp closed and the engines started up, Steve looked once more at the man Steve realized must be Captain Buchanan’s Agent. Combined with what Steven had said about mind control and brainwashing, with his thick accent, and Romanoff’s obvious knowledge of his identity, Steve could only conclude that he was a turn coat like her; a defector who had once been used and abused by his former masters.

                “Who are you,” Steve asked, and Steve had the misfortune of having those unnerving eyes turn towards him in their sea of black. The agent smirked wryly and turned to face him as the jet took off.

                “I was once the worst nightmare of all of SHIELD, and the western world,” he said his voice calm and blank. He didn’t sound proud of this, he was simply just stating a fact and it caused a shiver to run down Steve’s back as the Agent continued in the same cold dead voice, “now,” he said. His voice became soft and pensive, almost sad, as he soldiered on, “I am who I once was, and always will be: Stevan, The Winter Knight.”

~~**~~

* * *

 

Steve spent the rest of the flight to Germany looking up his new partner, and what he found did not instill in him any trust towards the man. SHIELD had very little on the former Soviet assassin, and what they did have was grim to say the least, and painted a stark picture: A cold efficient agent with a near perfect mission record, interspersed with bloody and brutal scenes of carnage, left by a man tearing down the agency that created him. The profile Steve pulled up was short and thin. It described a man with deep physiological scars, and a violent nature. Other profiles described him as efficient while also being somewhat compassionate, conflicting with others that said he had no emotional core, or had little to no empathy. It was sparse, and told him nothing about the man, while also informing him of his skillset. Mutant: possible Class 5, ungraded with multiple abilities, including telepathy, telekinesis, and electrical powers. It also briefly mentioned the possibility of him being enhanced, with all the characteristics of someone with the Super Soldier Serum: strong, fast, enhanced intelligence, and mental abilities, along with a healing factor. All in all it painted a picture of a man that Steve did not want to trust until he got to know him personally.

Steve had done enough mental assessments during the war that he could profile a man psychologically after a single conversation, but he still needed to talk to the man first, ask him questions about things in passing that would gage his morals and ability to feel empathy. He’d also need to talk to Natasha to get a bead on him, as it appeared that the Agent had known the assassin personally sometime in her past.

                “Approaching drop point, Cap,” Romanoff announced, and Steven looked out at the city be low. Natasha smirked, “looks like Loki’s already started the party,” she noted. Steve looked down and saw the museum emptying in a panic. Steve clenched his jaw in determination and turned around, only to come face to face with the assassin he had been avoiding for the better part of the last half hour.

                “Unless you are needed, you’re to stay here,” Steve ordered as he brushed passed the taller man. Steve strapped his shield onto his arm and tucked the Star under his shirt after giving it a quick kiss, in askance of blessing and protection. Steve looked back at the faceless assassin with a stern face, “I’ll handle of Loki.” Steve could see the tension in the man’s shoulders and saw his eyes narrow in displeasure.  “Understood,” Steve asked.

                “Your wish is my command, Captain,” the Knight finally complied, his tone flippant while his shoulders remained under false calm. “I will do as you order.” Suddenly Steve is back in the War for a brief moment remembering those words from a different mouth with a very different accent. Steven had been as far from his mind when he looked at The Knight as the moon from the Sun, but still Steve could not help but remember Steven saying those exact words to him all those years ago. Steve shook his head and opened the rear hatch.

Loki’s voice drifted up faintly, and if it weren’t for his hearing Steve might not have heard, but he definitely heard the famed trickster bellowing: “KNEEL!” before all went quiet.

~*~*~

* * *

 

                “In the end, you will always kneel,” Loki said, with a manic grin pulling across his face. Steve could see it as he dove out of the Jet without a chute. Suddenly out of the crowd an old man in a simple coat stood from within the kneeling throng. He was slow to rise, as if his knees bothered him, but when he did he held his head high and proud. Maybe he was once a soldier, maybe he was once just a simple little boy who wanted to stand when everyone else knelt, but was too afraid. He was young once, and alone, but he always remembered what it was like to be forced to kneel when all he wanted to do was stand strong. So today, amongst all the kneelers, he stood; his head held high as he remembered a brave man who once saved his life. He looked at Loki with all the defiance an old man could give, and held his head high.

                “Not to men like you,” he said, his accent strongly German. Loki grinned widely and chuckled as if he had made a joke.

                “There are no men like me,” he answered with his grin. The old man’s eyes grew saddened and shook his head softly.

                “There are _always_ men like you,” he said as if stating an inescapable fact, quiet disdain in his voice, remembering years of hardship and oppression that brought so many to death. Loki looked at him and raised his head.

                “Look to your elder, people,” he said as he lifted the staff and aimed it right at the old man’s heart. “Let him be an example,” Loki said his voice hardening with his face. Fear pulled into the old man’s face as the blue gem on the staff began to glow, and he took an involuntary step backwards. The bolt let loose but before he could hit him, a shield blocked its path, sending the shot right back where it came from, and knocking Loki to the ground.

Steve stood up from his crouch and pulled himself high and proud. Lowering the Shield as he stood up, he sent a glare down at the trickster who was now face first on the ground.

                “You know,” Steve said conversationally as he stepped down from the slab he landed on, “the last time I was in Germany, and saw a man standing above everybody else,” Steve slowly approached the Asgardian in green armor, “we ended up disagreeing.” Loki picked himself up with a disdained look on his face, anger boiling in his gut.

                “The soldier,” he said disdainfully, a cruel smile pulling across his lips and he chuckled, raising his scepter to brace on the ground and help him stand, “the man out of time.” Steve clenched his jaw and didn’t budge.

                “I’m not the one who’s out of time,” Steve replied, calmly. Behind his shoulder Romanoff lowered the Jet to hover just behind him as a show of force. It was a threat, but Steve knew they could shoot, not with all the civilians in the way, so it was a rather empty one in the end.

                “Loki,” Romanoff ordered over the PA system, lowering the Gatling gun as she did so, “drop the weapon and stand down.”

For a second nothing happened then all hell broke loose. Loki called the bluff and fired at the jet, and Romanoff was forced to roll to avoid the shot. Quick as lightning, Steve pulled his shield off his arm and flung it vertically at the Asgardian. Steve rushed him, catching the shield as it dropped back down, and moved to face Loki. The crowd scattered rather quickly when Steve threw the shield so Steve had an unobstructed field to charge his opponent and land a blow at a strength that would have shattered a normal man’s jaw. Loki paused for just a second, as if stunned by the blow, before he landed a blow of his own with the scepter.  Steve blocked the first blow with the shield, but the second batted it away, and a third was dealt too quickly for Steve to maneuver to block.  It landed right across his abdomen, and Steve felt a stab of fear for his babies as he paused for a breath, bracing himself against a fountain. Steve looked up and let all semblance of holding back leave him, as he clenched his jaw and flung the shield with all his might.

Loki batted the disk away like it was nothing, but while he was distracted by the maneuver, Steve charged. The two clashed, with Loki swinging his staff like a glaive trying to cut Steve down, while Steve ducked and dodged using his agility and unencumbered maneuverability to land blows with all his strength that would, and should have shattered bone to dust. Only, Loki shook them off as if they were love taps, and sent a blow across Steve’s back that sent the blond flying. It took Steve longer than he wanted to get back to his knees after that blow, and by the time he did, Loki was already above him. The Asgardian pressed the butt of his staff onto the back of Steve’s head forcing it down.

                “Kneel,” he hissed, and Steve took a breath, feeling his babes flutter in his belly with distress. Quick as a cat, Steve pulled the staff off his head and used its momentum to pull himself back to his feet, and land a roundhouse kick to Loki’s head.

                “Not today,” Steve denied as he landed the blow and sent Loki flying instead. The two traded blows like it was a Friday night prize fight, each one getting progressively more violent, and on Steve’s part, stronger and harder as he called upon more of his famed super strength than he had ever had to before. Steve dodged every blow like a dancer, as he and Loki wove about and moved together then apart, locked in a deadly dance that neither wanted to give up, trading blows that could bend solid steel plate nearly an inch thick. Steve dodged more than he gave blows, careful not to risk his babies lives, but he gave with all he had, not holding back, as his punches became exponentially more savage.

                “The guy’s all over the place,” Romanoff said as she tried to get a bead on Loki, without hitting Rogers, but with how Steve was moving, it was near impossible. Steven watched the fight with worry and frustration, knowing he could stop Loki with just a single blow if given the chance. He leaned in between the pilot and Romanoff watching Loki hand Steve his hat, before he saw Loki throw Steve away like a rag doll. Finally Steven’d had enough.

                “That’s it,” he said, pushing away from the pair, and marching back towards the hatch. His accent was still thick as before but some of his Brooklyn drawl was leaking through with his anger, “I’m goin’ down.” Steve reached for the hatch release when he heard the distinctive sound of AC/DC’s “ _Shoot to Thrill”_ come through the intercom. Steven turned back and felt before he saw, JARVIS hack the PA to blast Stark’s entry song to the square.

                “Agent Romanoff,” Stark said cheekily, and the PA switched on, “You miss me?” Steven sighed and turned back to the window to watch as Stark swooped in from the sky, sending out a blast from his repulsers that sent Loki flying back and into the courtyard steps, cracking them with the force he landed with, and making the trickster groan in pain. Stark landed in a perfect three point pose before bringing his gauntlets up and arming a whole slew of missiles and bombs aimed right at Loki’s head. “Make your move, Reindeer Games,” Stark dared. Loki looked up and surveyed his position, and Steven could see it the moment he realized he was done, Steve coming up to stand at Tony’s shoulder with shield in hand, even before he raised his hands in surrender; his golden armor fading away like mist. “Good move,” Stark said as the plates and missiles slide back into place and hid from view. Stark dropped his arms as Steve relaxed his stance. Shield now on his left arm, Steve stood side by side with a man he didn’t know, but was the son of a man he respected above all else; even if the man had questionable morals sometimes.

                “Mr. Stark,” Steve said as he acknowledged the man curtly.

                “Captain,” Tony responded. Romanoff lowered the jet in for a landing behind the pair, and Steven stood calmly at the door waiting for them to bring their prisoner in.

Together the two of them frog marched Loki to the back of the Jet, just as it lowered for them to enter. Tony paused when he set eyes on the masked man but quickly recovered to strap Loki in.

                “Need a hand,” Steven asked, his accent thick, but Stark waved him off. Tony took off his helmet to look at the younger masked man before turning to Steve and jerked a gauntleted thumb in his direction.

                “What’s the deal with Red Peril over here,” Tony asked, causing Steven to roll his eyes at the reference and Steve to squint at Stark in confusion. “I mean, I know SHIELD likes tall, dark, and shadowy masked men, but even this is a little bit much. He wasn’t in the briefing packet.” Steven smirked, and chuckled, while Steve sent Stark a disproving glare.

                “My name is Stevan,” the shadowy figure that was Steven, finally spoke up, leveling his gaze upon Tony Stark. The younger man met his gaze and found it just as unnerving as Steve did. “Your father called me his weeping Angel. The rest of SHIELD called me by me code name: The Winter Knight.”

~*~*

* * *

 

Tony felt himself stop, recognizing the name but unable to place exactly where he had heard it before. He looked back at the man, and really took him in this time, not just letting his eyes slide over him like he did before. He usually never did that, and this was a first, but that was probably what he wanted, considering that Stevan looked every inch the Mercenary assassin. Tony could care less about the man’s looks but even he could see the Kevlar weave stitched into the lining of the coat and the distinctive shape of armor under the near-black red leather. But it was that mask that really unnerved him and fascinated him to no end.

                “He’s CIA,” Cap finally said once they were in the air, “they attached him as a Liaison to SHIELD along with his handler. It only just happened today.” Tony nodded.

                “Noted,” Stark said as he took a closer look at the mask, before he suddenly blabbed, “Is that ultra-black mat paint, or something the CIA cooked up.” The masked man jerked his head up and tilted it slightly with squinted eyes. The effect was almost like a predator looking at a particularly interesting bit of prey, almost like a bird, and to be frank it freaked him out just a little; because all he could see was those luminous blue eyes narrow in the field of black.

                “it’s my own creation,” the assassin answered, his accent as thick as any from the cold land of Russia, “it’s meant to absorb all visible light, it makes for a very effective mask coating.” Tony hummed in respect before turning to Steve.

~**~

* * *

 

Steven settled in across from the Asgardian as Steve and Tony stand behind Romanoff. He took a deep breath and relaxed, closing his eyes for a second just to let his mind recover. When he opened them he found Loki staring at him with an unnerving smirk on his smug face. Steven felt a press on his mental shields and snapped his eyes to Loki’s, fixing him with a glare as cold as the Helcaraxë.

                ‘ _Stay out of my mind, Loki,’_ Steven warned, his mental voice just as biting as those cold wastes. Steven sent a mental slash at the other’s mind, and saw Loki flinch, his eyes widening slightly. _‘Lest you find yourself trapped in a cage in your own mind, and in a hell of your own making, you will not mess with my head.’_ Suddenly Loki was no longer smirking as Steven’s mind suddenly became like unto a pillar of fire, his eyes beginning to glow ever so slightly in the depths of his pupils, with a light unlike any he had ever seen. ‘ _Stay_ out! _’_ Steven snapped mentally, throwing Loki out of his mind with such force the ravenette flinched.

~*~

* * *

 

                “I don’t like it,” Steve said his gaze shifting from Loki to their unexpected partner. Stevan had remained silent after whatever he had done to make Loki stop smirking, his eyes were still as cold as an Antarctic winter, and were zeroed on Loki.

                “What? Rock of Ages giving up so easily,” Tony asked flippantly, looking out the windscreen.

                “I don’t remember it being that easy,” Steve shot back, wanting to run a hand over his sore ribs and belly, but keeping his arms at his sides. Steve turned to look at Loki and said softly, “this guy packs a wallop.” Steve finally placed a hand on his lower abdomen, glad to feel the fluttering movements of the babies, and the occasional sharp kick.

                “Still,” Tony said flippantly, “you are pretty spry. For an older fellow,” Tony turned and looked at Steve, “what’s your thing? Pilates?” Steve furrowed his brow and looked oddly at the, technically, younger man.

                “What,” Steve asked in confusion.

                “It’s like calisthenics,” Tony expounded, “You might have missed a couple things, you know, doin’ time as a Capsicle.” Tony’s flippant regard of him missing the last seventy years was grading but from what he had read in the dossiers, this was all pars for the core with Tony. It was just like Howard too, only he knew when to stop with the jokes and be serious every now and then.  Steve gave Tony a long hard look, before he spoke again.

                “Fury didn’t tell me he was callin’ you in,” Steve said, all but asking why he was here, but too polite to do it.

                “Yeah,” Tony agreed flippant tone back with a hint of seriousness to it, “there’s a lot of things Fury doesn’t tell you.” Tony looked back at Steve and the blond got the impression that Stark was trying to tell him something but before Steve could ask what he meant, the sudden crack of thunder broke the silence of the hold.

                “Where’s this coming from,” Romanoff asked. Steve looked up, watching the bolts streak around them in the clouds. Steve turned full around and saw that Loki had leaned forward in his seat, a concerned look on his face. Steve noted Stevan’s gaze was no longer on the errant Asgardian but out at the sky, his eyes intense and luminous.

                “What’s the matter,” Steve asked, “scared of a little lightning?” Loki’s eyes darted around before answering.

                “I’m not overly fond of what follows,” he said. Suddenly Stevan’s eyes jerked up as he looked at the roof. His eyes became almost like two orbs of light at the intensity with which he looked at the ceiling. After a minute it became obvious what he was staring at when there was a very loud thud, and the craft rocked a little when something landed on the roof. Lightning and thunder rocked the little jet almost as much as whatever had landed on them. Tony grabbed his helmet and put it back on while Steve did the same, only Stevan remained seated; his gaze now on the hanger door.

                “What are doing,” Steve asked when Tony opened the hatch. Stevan stood up and moved to protect Natasha while Tony moved to the ramp. Suddenly a big blond man with long hair, a short handled war hammer, and a red cape dropped onto the ramp in front of him. The man marched up the ramp and when Tony charged his gauntlets, he sent him flying into Steve with a single punch from the hammer. Stevan threw up a kinetic shield in case he tried to attack him, sparks flying across his fingers making his hands glow with white and gold light.

The blond on the other hand had no interest in them and only in Loki. The dark haired trickster snapped out of his restraints and tried to run but was quickly caught by the neck and dragged out with him. The hammer whirled in his hand and in a leap Loki and the blond were gone. Tony groaned when he was finally able to get up and disentangle himself from Steve.

                “Now there’s that guy,” he said almost to himself.

                “Another Asgardian,” Natasha asked as Stevan lowered his shields.

                “That guy’s a friendly,” Steve asked incredulously, as he pulled himself up.

                “I hate to be his enemy,” Stevan quipped dryly.

                “Doesn’t matter,” Tony said, matching towards the ramp, “if he frees Loki or kills him, the Tesseract’s lost.” Stark moves back to the ramp intending to follow, and Steve realized that Tony was going to hurt someone with his hot head.

                “Stark,” Steve ordered, “we need a plan of attack!” Steve needed tony to use his brilliant mind and not his ego or he might be in big trouble.

Tony marched to the end of the ramp with determined strides.

                “I have a plan,” he said as he walked to the edge, turning almost absently to say, “attack!” and blasted off after the blond. Steve rolled his eyes at Tony’s behavior, frustrated that a man he was supposedly brought on the team to lead wouldn’t listen to his advice. Steve rushed to the racks and grabbed one of the parachutes strapped down, and began to quickly go through the motions of strapping it on. Stevan looked at the racks and back at Steve before he shook his head and sat down.

                “I’d sit this one out, Cap,” Natasha said as she looked over her shoulder. Steve tightened the strap across his chest.

                “I don’t see how I can,” Steve answered, pulling it tight.

                “These guys come from legend,” she explained, flipping a switch as she went, “they’re basically gods.”

                “There’s only one God, ma’am,” Steve said as he finally strapped himself in. He turned, grabbed his shield and said, “And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t dress like that.” Steve took two long strides and with the third leaped out of the back of the plane.

~*~

* * *

 

Steven looked at the place where Steve was just a moment before and felt the overwhelming urge to follow him. After all, he had done so dozens of times in the past, diving out of planes into Germany, behind enemy lines; into the jaws of death. Steven felt himself smirk and huffed out a silent snort of laughter.

                ‘ _At least he’s wearing a parachute this time,_ ’ Steven thought before he quashed the urge to follow ruthlessly. He stood up and pressed the rear hatch control, closing it for the time being. Steven sat down with a groan.

                “I’m getting too old for this,” he said softly.

                “You look pretty spry to me,” Natasha said over her shoulder, with a raised brow, “not following?”

                “Hell no,” Steven said with a laugh, “I don’t jump out of planes anymore if I don’t have to. Besides, Stark’s behaving like a child who’s had his favorite toy taken. I don’t want to get between him and … Thor… is it? That is going to be a fight I will most definitely avoid. Let the Captain play the father, those two could use a good scolding?” Steven ended with a grin and chortle. Natasha smothered a giggle but Steven still heard the start of it and smiled all the brighter. Steven leaned back and closed his eyes. After a minute ordering his mind, he opened the connection he had with his brothers. ‘ _Thor’s here_.’ He told them, ‘ _he took Loki, but Tony and Steve are handling it._ ’ Steven felt Yasha brush against his mind and Steven opened Osanwe to his brother.

                (“Tony and Steve,”) he asked incredulously, (“working together?”)

                (“That doesn’t sound right,”) Jonathan chimed in once he opened his mind, (“what’s really going on?”) Steven smirked, and let a chuckle rumble through his mind.

                (“Tony ran off like a child to get him back, and Steve went after him to make sure they don’t kill each other,”) Steven summarized. Suddenly Yasha’s and Jonathan’s laughter rang through his mind like bells, and Steven wrapped himself in the warmth of it. (“Thor will be joining us once he gets control of his temper.”)

                (“That sounds more like Tony,”) Yasha said, (“and Ada too.”) he laughed and pulled back. Steven let the connection close and turned to Jonathan.

                (“Loki wanted something at that Museum,”) Steven said, (“that whole speech and show was an act; a distraction. Find out what Hawkeye stole.”) Jonathan brushed comfortingly across the jagged edges of Steven’s mind and smoothed them back down.

                (“I’ll get right on it,”) Jonathan said, (“Stevie, be careful.”) Jonathan added softly, and Steven smiled and sent his brother a mental hug.

                (“I will,”) he promised and let the connection close. Once he opened his eyes he saw Natasha looking at him with a calculating stare.

                “Just making sure they haven’t killed each other, yet,” he said with a smile. The smile fell slightly and he felt compassion well in his eyes for a minute before he spoke. “You know he would have never done it, Natalia.” Natasha looked sharply at Steven, her eyes cold and sharp, and her mind full of jagged things. “Whatever Loki did, we’ll break it. You have my word, I will help you find a way,” he promised, then smirked, “when have I ever broken a promise?” Natasha looked back shrewdly at the man that was once her teacher before saying one word.

                “Yelena,” she said.

                “Yelena’s dead,” Steven told her. Natasha looked at him with wide eyes.

                “When,” she asked.

                “93,” Steven answered. Natasha nodded and went back to the controls. Steven felt the earth shattering ring before he heard it and quickly pressed his hands over his ears to block out the sound. When it did come it was like the clear ringing of a gong, or a bell only much louder and more resounding than any bell. Steven could only wonder what had made that sound for a moment, before realizing that only Vibranium could ring like that, and it must have been a mighty blow to make it ring like that. Steve smirked as he remembered that big hammer and knew that only Mjolnir could do it.

~*~

* * *

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: so that was it, Loki’s fight in Stuttgart. I know you probably wanted to have the big speech but I was not in the mood to write that along with a fight scene, because I suck at fights and doing a big scene like that deserves some effort put into it. I hope it isn’t too hard to follow the POV’s.  
> Next up the Helicarrier


	8. Secrets Revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: so this is a long chapter with lots of stuff happening so bear with me and please be patient. This is going to be a long story, and I will at least try to get a few chapters out a month.  
> Onto the fic

~*~*

* * *

 

When Steve and Tony finally returned to the jet, Thor was with them, Loki cuffed and in tow beside his brother. Steven let out a sigh of relief at seeing them unharmed before he pulled up his masks and projected the image of calm aloofness to the trio of warriors. Steven stepped aside as Thor brought Loki up the ramp and strapped him back into his seat. Thor turned and looked quizzically at Steven, calmly noting Steven’s mask and dark attire. Thor turned to Steve and Tony as the ramp closed and the QuinJet smoothly took to the skies.

                “You work with assassins and sell swords, Captain,” Thor asked. Steve looked at Thor with a confused and surprised look on his face before Thor pointed his hammer at Steven, “him; he’s a hired killer, is he not?” Steve opened his mouth and let out a hum of understanding.

                “He’s been assigned to our team,” Steve answered, glancing in Steven’s direction, noting the formerly retired assassin’s forced calm as he sat down silently across from Loki. “He’s…” Steve started, grasping for a diplomatic answer, before he sighed and shrugged, “it’s complicated.” Steve sent Steven an apologetic look, earning him a quick and soft smile, his eyes temporarily becoming warm and soft before they hardened again. “He’s on our side, though. And I don’t doubt that he’ll watch our backs.” Thor nodded before he became silent and brooded over what he had learned from Loki. Steven dared a peek inside Thor’s head and if he weren’t in full control over his features he would have become a pale as ash. An army was coming; one more dangerous than any before, save one, and Loki was given the reins.

~*~*

* * *

 

Walking off the QuinJet and into the holding bay was very different from when Steven had walked on. When he got on the Jet everyone ignored him, or didn’t notice him, but now, walking behind Loki as he escorted the Mad Asgardian off the jet with Steve and Thor at his side, he was very much noticed. Agents and workers stopped and stared. Guards instinctively reached for their guns, before they checked themselves and turned their attention back to Loki. Steven didn’t mind, in fact, it brought a slight smile to his face. It showed just how much they remembered him, and that his work still had impacts. But for now he ignored it, and slipped away from Loki to follow Thor and Steve back to the bridge.

Steve and Thor entered first, followed swiftly by Natasha, who slipped in and claimed a seat at the table. Steven’s clone walked up to him to greet him with a warm hand on the shoulder, and as he turned to face the room and reveal “his” Agent, Steven found himself facing over a dozen guns pointed at him or in his face. Steven stared at the assemblage with wide eyes for a heartbeat before a smirk pulled across his lips. A chuckle is pulled out of his chest before he grinned wide and began to laugh. No one moved as Steven, The Winter Knight, laughed heartily before he regained his composure. With a careless flick of his wrist, all the guns pointed at him suddenly disassembled in their owners’ hands, and Steven calmly sat down in the chair beside Steve. An amused chuckle pulled out of his mouth as the guns reassembled in the air, barrels pointed down.

                “At least they still remember me,” Steven said with a wide grin, carelessly leaning back and placing his booted feet on the table, ankles crossed. He leaned over to Steve and with a wide and conspiratorial grin added, “Or do they just tell bogyman tales about me on dark nights?” the clone rolled his eyes and sent the agents, now holding their guns again, a scathing glare.

                “Put ‘em away,” he ordered, “he’s one of ours.” Agent Hill looked about ready to argue before she thought better of it and holstered her own weapon.

                “Do it.” Steven grinned wickedly, with viciousness cut into his smile, before the clone turned a glare on him.

                “Feet off,” it ordered. Steven pouted and sneered in displeasure but acquiesced, slowly taking his feet off one at a time before sitting up properly and scooting his chair in. he ignored the “that’s better” from the clone and turned on his view screen to the security footage from the detention center.

                _“In case it’s unclear,”_ Fury said typing on the keyboard controls, _“you try to escape, you so much a scratch that glass,”_ a few buttons later and the floor beneath the glass cage opened up like an iris, revealing nothing but open air.  Loki approached the edge and looked down curiously, _“thirty thousand feet, straight down in a steel trap. You get how that works,”_ he asked. Fury closed the door and turned to Loki, who was looking curiously at the controls. Steven narrowed his eyes and hummed over this. He would bet even money that Loki saw how they worked and had memorized the controls. Fury turned back to Loki both hands gesturing at him, _“ant,”_ then turned to the controls, _“boot.”_

Loki seemed to find this amusing and let out a soft chuckle. His grin was manic and Steven wished for a moment that he could see into the Asgardian’s mind, but it was a bright mess in there that he didn’t want to detangle. Instead Steven focused on the ravenette’s body language, and all the verbal queues using another talent he had, one cultivated by the Red Room and honed into a weapon: reading people. It was a skill any good interrogator had and one that any spy worth his salt needed in spades if they were going to survive ten minutes in the field.

 _“It’s an impressive cage,”_ Loki admitted, backing away from the glass with amusement in his voice and confidence in his step. _“Not built, I think, for me,”_ Loki said pointing at himself. It was a word trap, and Fury fell right into it.

 _“Built for something a lot_ stronger _than you,”_ Fury admitted.

 _“Oh, I’ve heard,”_ Loki said turning towards the camera. _“A mindless beast, makes play he’s still a man.”_ Steven glanced up and saw Banner shift uncomfortably and quietly noted that Natasha was looking at him as well. She took that queue and honed in on it. She learned. Good girl. Steven’s lips pulled slightly into a quick smile before he dropped it and listened to Loki rant.

 _“How desperate are you,”_ Loki said to Fury, _“you call on such lost creatures to defend you.”_ Fury looked cold but controlled as he answered.

 _“How desperate am I,”_ he asked, and slowly stalked towards the glass listing off his reasons, _“you threaten my world with war, you steal a force you can’t hope to control, you talk about peace and you kill cause it’s fun. You have made me_ very _desperate,”_ Fury said his face as cold as ice and his eye hard as stone; _“you might not be glad that you did.”_

 _“Ooh,”_ Loki said calmly, and Steven could see the arrogance coming off him in waves. _“It_ burns _you to have come so close_ ,” he taunted, backing away his face calm, but Steven could see the urge to grin and needle and tear at this wound. Loki was good, but his queues were obvious _. “To have the Tesseract, to have power; unlimited power,”_ Loki said raising his head and looking down his nose at Fury before he face went carefully blank, _“and for what?”_ the grin came back as Loki turned to the camera again. Steven furrowed his brow for a minute, realizing that Loki did this before, and then he sucked in a breath as understanding dawned. It was a jab, for someone watching, and Steven narrowed his eyes and paid close attention as Loki said, _“A warm light for all Mankind to share?”_ Tony, Steven realized it was a jab at Tony. But why, Steven snarled softly. He was missing something.

Loki turned back to Fury his face cold and full of quiet anger, as he said, _“And then to be reminded what real power is.”_ Steven felt a chill run down his back at those words, and the way Loki said them. It reminded Steven far too much of the Angels he had met with the Winchesters. The same arrogance and self-importance, and near disgust they held for humans, making them look down their noses at them like they were mud on their shoes, or worse; it was the same self-assurance in their powers and their place above humans that Loki had. Worse; it didn’t jive with the man Lauro described when he asked about him. Steven furrowed his brow; something was wrong here, and it wasn’t just with Loki.

Fury huffed out a snort of derision, before turning away.

 _“Well, let me know if Real Power wants a magazine or something,”_ Fury said flippantly as he left the room.

~*~*

* * *

 

                “He really grows on ya, doesn’t he,” Banner finally said sarcastically. Steven raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Steve before looking at Thor. The blond Asgardian was pacing in front of the table, his arms crossed as he brooded over what he had learned. Steve looked up and finally stepped into his role.

                “Loki’s gonna draw this out,” Steve said, as he mulled over the conversation before looking up at the big blond, “so… Thor, what’s his play?” Thor finally seemed to get out of his head for a minute, but he was still turning something over in his mind.

                “He has an army called the Chitauri,” he said and turned to the table, his arms dropping as he finally gave voice to his thoughts, “they’re not of Asgard or any world known. He means to lead them against your people, and they will win him the Earth; in return, I suspect, for the Tesseract.” Thor seemed so confident in his Intel, and that made Steven nervous. Steven swallowed hard as he peeked in Thor’s mind and saw the threat Thor feared. Steve on the other hand looked skeptical.

                “An army,” Steve said slowly, “from outer space.” Steve sounded almost incredulous.

                “Weirder things have happened, Captain,” Steven pointed out as he mulled over Loki’s speech again.

                “Point,” Steve said absently, and he went over things again in his own head. Steven glanced up at Yasha, and suddenly it hit him: Loki never mentioned him; in fact he never mentioned either of them. Loki’s Intel was not just outdated, it was also lacking, which meant that whoever told him about the Avengers had to have known about them, or have been on the roster, and Steven would bet his bayonet that it was Hawkeye. Yasha was an auxiliary member, an emergency back-up only, not in the data files for the Avengers, and Steven wasn’t even on the roster because as far as Barton knew The Winter Knight was dead.

                “So, he’s building another portal,” Banner said, as he took off his glasses and began to fiddle with them. “That’s what he needs Erik Selvig for.”

                “Selvig,” Thor asked, suddenly startled.

                “He’s an Astrophysicist,” Banner stated.

                “He’s a friend,” Thor corrected, and Steven saw the sudden concern on his face. A quick look gained the image of a beautiful woman with a lot of emotional feelings attached to her. A girlfriend, or lover, Steven surmised, and a pressure point for Thor; perhaps even a weakness.

                “Loki has him under some kind of spell,” Natasha put in, and looked nervous when she added, “along with one of ours.”

                “I wanna know why Loki let us take him,” Steve said, voicing his unease over Loki’s surrender. He looked around and said, “He’s not leading an army from here.”

                “I don’t think we should be focusing on Loki,” Banner said voicing his distaste over the trickster, “that guy’s brain is a bag full of cats; you can smell crazy on him.” Steven cracked a smirk at that comment.

                “Sometimes the crazy ones are the most dangerous,” Steven said calmly before looking up at the room, “and I know crazy.” Steven bore his teeth in a shark’s grin, chuckling slightly.

                “Have care how you two speak,” Thor said, obviously irritated, “Loki is beyond reason, but he is of Asgard, and he is my brother.” Yasha blinked and grinned cheekily.

                “Black sheep of the family,” he jabbed with a cheery grin.

                “Yasha!” the Clone of Steven barked in reprimand, and Yasha sank down a little, his grin gone; sufficiently cowed.

                “Sorry,” he mumbled. The clone nodded but Natasha didn’t seem satisfied with the jab and dug in deeper.

                “He killed eighty people in two days,” she pointed out hunched over on the table, and glared coldly up at the blond without even moving. Steven quirked a smile, remembering that trick from a long time ago, and knowing that he taught it to her. Thor looked caught off his guard and floundered.

                “He’s adopted,” he said as a weak excuse. Steven looked up and gave Thor an assessing look before he spoke.

                “I’ve done worse,” Steven said, causing the group to stop and look at him. Banner stopped fiddling with his glasses and Steve turned to look at him fully, and Thor gave him a look of shock and respect. Only Natasha didn’t look surprised at this reveal, but she did look surprised that he was admitting it. After a minute the shock wore off and Banner spoke again.

                “I think it’s about the mechanics,” Banner said, “iridium,” he asked, “What do they need the iridium for?” but before he got any further a voice called out and gave him an answer.

                “It’s a stabilizing agent,” Tony said as he strode in with Coulson on his heels. Steven looked towards the door and smiled. “So I’m just sayin’,” Tony said softly and Steven would bet that only he and Steve could properly hear him, “pick a weekend, I’ll fly you to Portland.” Coulson waved it off and Tony gave one last try, “keep love alive.” Steven smiled softly at such a caring gesture. Tony may not know how to tell people he cared about them in words, but he could certainly show it.

                “It means,” Tony said loudly as he walked into the room, explaining as he went, “Portal won’t collapse on itself like it did at SHIELD.” Tony then walked up to Thor and just had to jab at his pride a little. “No hard feeling, Point Break. You got a mean swing.” He paused as he tapped Thor on the arm before continuing with his lecture, “Also, it means that the portal can open as wide and stay open as long as Loki wants it.” Tony approached Fury’s control station, and Steven felt his amusement, and just knew he couldn’t help himself. “Raise the mizzenmast, jib the topsail.” Steven could feel the confusion of the crew and glanced over at Jonathan through his clone’s eyes. He had to sigh with frustration at what his little brother was doing, before Tony beat him to it, “that man is playing Galaga,” Tony said pointing over at Jonathan’s workstation. Steve looked over as did some of the others, but Jonathan closed the game quickly, after being caught. “Thought we wouldn’t notice, but we did,” Tony added as he looked at the station.

                (“Jonny,”) Steven scolded his little brother after opening the connection, and Jonathan winced.

                (“Sorry,”) Jonathan said sheepishly. Tony looked back and forth at the screens before covering his left eye and looking confused.

                “How does Fury even see these,” Tony asked.

                “He turns,” Hill answered calmly and decisively. Tony rolled his eyes and turned back to the screens.

                “Sounds exhausting,” Tony said, and began fiddling with the display. Steven kept his eyes sharp on Tony’s hands because if Tony was going to do anything it would be now. “The rest of the raw materials Agent Barton can get his hands on pretty easily. Only major component he still needs is a power source of high energy density,” Steven saw Tony’s hand press against the side of the station and smiled softly when he saw a little device latch on. Tony hadn’t changed. “Something to kick-start the Cube,” he finished snapping his fingers and hands, in an abstract exploding gesture.

                “When did you become an expert in thermonuclear Astrophysics,” Hill asked coolly.

                “Last night,” Tony answered blandly, as if it took only a few hours to master a very complicated field of scientific theory. “The packet; Selvig’s notes, the extraction theory papers,” Tony looked confusedly around as he took his hands out of his pockets, “am I the only one that did the reading?” Steven quirked a smile in amusement; only Tony Stark could make an emergency briefing packet sound like grade school homework reading.

                “Does Loki need any particular kind of power source,” Steve asked. Banner looked up from his glasses to answer.

                “He’d have to heat the Cube to a hundred and twenty million Kelvin just to break through the coulomb barrier,” Banner explained as he paced behind his chair. He looked slightly anxious, but Steven knew that he was in his element, and was actually excited to explain his theory and work.

                “Unless,” Tony said his arms spread out like a pitch seller in a boardroom, “Selvig has figured out how to stabilize the quantum tunneling effect.” Steven let out a snort.

                “If he could do that,” Steven interrupted, “he could perform heavy Ion fusion at any reactor on the planet.” Banner, Tony, Steve and Natasha all turned to look at him with shock and Steven plastered on his most charming disarming grin. “Russia,” he gave as an answer. Tony raised an eyebrow and hummed pleasantly.

                “Finally,” Tony said, “people who speak English.” Steve looked at his dark companion with shock, realizing there was an intelligent man behind that mask and not just another thug. Tony approached Dr. Banner with enthusiasm, and reached out to shake his hand.

                “Is that what just happened,” Steve asked confusedly, wondering where those words came from and what they even meant. Steven took pity on the poor Captain and leaned over to whisper at him conspiratorially.

                “I’ll explain later,” he said, and smiled. Steve gave the man a relieved look before turning back to his notes.

                “It’s good to meet you, Dr. Banner,” Tony said as he shook the scientist’s hand. “Your work on anti-electron collision is unparalleled,” then flippantly added, “And I’m a hug fan of how you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage monster.” Steven saw how Banner became slightly uncomfortable and shy after that, and had no idea how to even answer that statement.

                “Thanks,” he finally said dryly. Fury just had to break the moment as he finally entered.

                “Dr. Banner is only here to track the Cube,” Fury explained, “I was hoping you would join him.” Fury was up to something, and Steven narrowed his eyes at the one eyed man, before he looked at Steve and discreetly tapped on the screen to show the scepter. Steve nodded in assent, before turning to Tony and Banner.

                “I’d start with that stick of his,” Steve suggested, “it may be magical, but it works an awful lot like a HYDRA weapon.” Steven felt his spine stiffen just a little even at the mere mention of them. Sparks flashed across his fingers before he clenched his fists and reigned in his temper; before anyone noticed.

                “I don’t know about that,” Fury said, and Steven leaned just slightly out of Steve’s shadow to glare at Fury with icy eyes. “But it is powered by the Cube, and I’d like to know how Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys.” Steven grinned, recognizing that old reference, though he hadn’t seen the film in a very long time.

                “Monkeys,” Thor said confusedly, “I don’t understand…”

                “I do,” Steve said his face alight with joy at finally hearing a reference he knew. Steven could almost feel Tony’s eye roll, and shot Tony a scathing glare through his clone. The billionaire didn’t look one bit contrite and ignored the look. Steve reigned in his enthusiasm and shyly dropped his pointed hand, looking around the room like a shy schoolboy. “I understood that reference,” he said. Steven smiled and caught the Captain’s eye, trying to convey the warmth he felt through his smile. It seemed to work because Steve looked more sure of himself and less shy.

                “Shall we play, doctor,” Tony asked Banner. Banner gestured towards the door, grandiosely with a slight bow.

                “This way, sir,” he said and led Tony off to the lab.

Only once they finally left did Fury notice Steven.

                “Oh, _Hell, no_ ,” Fury drawled, and Steven plastered on his most charming grin. Fury shook his head in frustration, and held up his hand, “I don’t need this kind of shit on my plate. It’s too _damn late_ and I’m too _damn tired_ to deal with this.” With that Fury walked away, leaving Steven to throw back his head and let out a cackle.

~*~*

* * *

 

When Steven finally left the room, it was at Steve’s heels. Walking in Steve’s shadow again was like a walk down memory lane, such as it brought a subtle smile to Steven’s lips and warmth in his soul he hadn’t realized he was missing. Steve took a turn towards the lab, perhaps out of habit from his days in the war when he would stop by Howard’s lab to watch him work, and maybe pester the man with Questions. It didn’t hurt that Steve was young and genuinely wanted to learn what Howard was doing. Steven sighed sadly, knowing that Tony would not be as indulging, and it was partially his fault. Once upon a time, Tony may have actually loved meeting Steve and having him ask about his work, but that was before 91, before Steven had blocked all memory Tony had of Bucky and himself and consequently the reconciliation he had made with Howard towards the end.

Steve walked in the door at the worst time, both for his fraying temper and nerves, and for his assessment of Tony’s character. He walked in just in time to see Tony jab a probe into Banner’s side, lightly, but enough to give the man a shock and have him respond to the stimuli.

                “Ow,” Banner exclaimed more in surprise than any real pain but it was enough to have Steve’s hackles up.

                “Hey,” Steve said, barging into the room. Steven hung back and lurked by the door rather than enter that wasp’s nest that was brewing. Tony all but ignored Steve and leaned in close to gage the doctor’s reaction.

                “Nothing,” Tony asked, and Steven could see Banner was more amused by Tony than irritated. But Steve could not see that, and a brief glimpse into his mind yielded the underlying fear for his unborn children.

                “Are you nuts,” Steve asked, marching over to the lab table where Tony and Bruce had laid out the Scepter. Tony ignored him for a second until Steve was right there, and threw out one of his snappy one liner.

                “Juries out,” he quipped, before turning back to the source of his fascination and scrutiny, “you really have got a lid on it, haven’t you,” Tony asked, his innate sense of curiosity driving at him. “What’s your secret? Mellow jazz, bongo drums, huge bag of weed?” Steven barely choked back his snicker, and had to bite his lips to keep from falling into a fit of giggles, when he heard that. Tony was still Tony, even all these years later. He was still a flippant snarky teen who just couldn’t help himself by throwing out snappy little jokes and brushing aside social norms to do it. Steven schooled himself and walked up behind Steve to linger just behind his left shoulder.

                “Is everything a joke to you,” Steve asked in irritation.

                “Funny things are,” Tony sniped back, pointing the probe at Steve to emphasize his point.

                “Threatening the safety of everyone on this ship isn’t funny,” Steve said. Steven knew that this came from a place of genuine concern for everyone, mostly for his babies, but for everyone around them as well. Steve turned to the doctor apologetically. “No offence, doc,” Steve added, kindly.

                “It… it’s alright,” Bruce said, “I wouldn’t have come aboard if I couldn’t handle pointy things.” He looked at Tony quickly and nervously before going back to his screen. Tony backed away with a wry smirk on his face.

                “You’re tip toeing, big man,” Tony said, “You need to strut.” Steve seemed to get suddenly irritated but kept an outward calm. Steven looked sharply at him with a frown, and just knew that whatever was going to come out of Steve’s mouth next was not going to ingratiate him to Tony Stark.

                “And you need to focus on the problem, Mr. Stark,” Steve snapped. Tony gave him a look that made even Steven want to grind his teeth together in frustration. Tony was not helping his image with Steve.

                “You think I’m not,” Tony asked Steve, as if he were slow. Steven saw the look in Tony’s eye and knew the man was going to try and poke holes in Steve’s sense of right and wrong; to pose questions that Steve didn’t want to ask or have answered. “Why did Fury call us in?” Tony asked as he walked back towards Banner with a bag in hand, his tone curious and methodical. “Why now? Why not before? What isn’t he telling us? I can’t do the equation unless I have all the variables.” Steven saw the cogs turning in Steve’s mind before he answered like the kid from Brooklyn would have, and not Captain America.

                “You think Fury’s hiding something,” Steve asked, but Steven knew it was rhetorical. The gears were turning in his head and there was no stopping him now. Steven could have grinned and cheered and danced for joy. Steve was finally acting like himself again, and not drowning in other peoples’ expectations of him.

Suddenly at the edge of his mind, Steven heard a cloying voice whisper, ‘ _you can do it. You don’t need them. Pick up the scepter and you can make the world better. You can rule them_.’ Steven flinched hard and looked over at the scepter, just keeping half an ear on the conversation around him.

                “He’s a spy,” Tony said as if that explained everything. “Captain, he’s ‘the’ spy. His secrets have secrets,” Tony popped a handful of dried fruit into his mouth, and said around it “and it’s bugging him too.” Steven nearly missed the fact that tony gestured to Banner, as he finally was able to block the signal coming from the stone in the scepter. “And him too. Isn’t it?” Tony gestured to Steven, who looked sharply up at the three sets of eyes looking at him. Steven didn’t trust his voice so he only nodded.

                “Ah,” Banner stuttered and gestured to the table, “I just want to finish my work here, and…” Steven saw that he wasn’t looking anyone in the eye, and smirked. The doctor was a good man, but a lousy liar. Steve saw this too and went for the jugular.

                “Doctor,” Steve asked, his brows furrowed with concern and a need to know the truth. Banner stopped and looked at Tony before seemingly contemplating his answer, before he took off his glasses.

                “‘A warm light for all Mankind,’” Banner explained, “Loki’s jab at Fury about the Cube.”

                “I heard it,” Steve said encouragingly. Suddenly Steven was taken back to the war when Steve was forced to interrogate a prisoner. This was the exact tone and expression he had when he did it: concern with just the right touch of authority and encouragement. It was eerie.

                “Well,” Banner said, and pointed his glasses at Tony, “I think that was meant for you.” Tony held out his little silver bag, and Banner finally dipped his hand in to take some of the offered treat out. “Even if Barton didn’t tell Loki about the tower, it was still all over the news.”

                “The Stark Tower,” Steve asked, his brows rose in understanding, then a slight smirk stole across his lips, “that big ugly…” Tony turned to look at Steve and the blond dropped the lighthearted smirk and sobered, “building in New York?” Steven nearly snarled at Tony for making Steve’s mask return like that. It was worse than when the brass had to directly order Steve to do something against his instincts and morals. Steven reigned himself in and plastered his own mask on of icy disapproval, and aimed it at Tony.

                “It’s powered by an Arch-reactor,” Banner explained, “a self-sustaining energy source.” Banner looked up at Tony and asked, “That building will run itself for, what, a year?” Tony seemed to preen a little under the praise, and Steven felt the need to roll his eyes.

                “It’s just the prototype,” Tony said. He turned to Steve and boasted just a little, “I’m kinda the only name in clean energy right now. That’s what he’s getting’ at.” Steven grits his teeth, and turned his mask of disapproval to arctic disdain. Steve was not slow, nor was he just a big brainless muscle man. He had a very intelligent mind in his head if anyone bothered to give him all the Intel, and let him make conclusions on his own.

                “So,” Banner asked, pointing at Tony, “why didn’t SHIELD bring him in on the Tesseract Project?” Banner shrugged in confusion, before adding, “What are they doing in the energy business in the first place?” it was a valid question, Steven noted and saw Steve file that thought away too. He’d have to ask Jonathan to patch him into the servers so he could do a deep scan of the secure files. But it seemed Tony beat him to it.

                “I should probably look into that once my decryption program finishes breaking into all of SHIELD’s secure files,” Tony said as he walked around the table and pulled his phone out of his pocket to check its progress. Steven looked at Tony with wide eyed shock, and no small amount of fear. Digging too deep is what got his father onto HYDRA’s radar and nearly got him and his whole family killed if it weren’t for Steven’s intervention. It seemed the apple hadn’t fallen so far from the tree as everyone thought, but in this case it could get him killed.

                “I’m sorry. Did you say,” Steve started to ask, before Tony interrupted him.

                “JARVIS has been running it since I hit the bridge,” Tony said, “in a few hours; I’ll know every dirty secret SHIELD has ever tried to hide. Blueberry?” he asked holding out the bag. Steven couldn’t help the fear that shot through him. SHIELD may not have thought he was alive, but they sure as hell would have a file on him, and Steven knew that it would not paint a pretty picture. And with his file came his Ada’s and that was defiantly not something Tony ever needed to see. A guided search was what Tony needed, not a brute-force approach. Steven looked at Steve and saw the disdain and betrayal in Steve’s posture, and knew that Steve was going to go on the offensive.

                “Yet you’re confused about why they don’t want you around,” Steve said with derision. Tony looked at Steve like he was an idiot for two seconds before explaining.

                “An intelligence agency that fears intelligence,” Tony asked with concern and suspicion in his voice. “Historically, not awesome,” he explained. Steven saw Tony’s big eyes just begging Steve for some understanding, but Tony had pushed all the wrong buttons and Steve was stubborn. He would never admit defeat.

                “I think Loki’s trying to wind us up,” Steve explained. “This is a man that means to start a war, and if we don’t stay focused, he’ll succeed.” Steve looked at Banner then Tony, his voice taking on an edge that Steven only heard a few times, “we have orders. We should follow them.”

Steven flinched, but hid it well. Those were words he had come to hate over the past sixty plus years. First HYRDA then the Red Room, they made him hate the very idea of following orders blindly. Steve was not one for following anyone’s orders; it’s why he was placed in charge of a commando unit. He did best without the brass breathing down his neck. Why was he clinging to this idea now? It made no sense. Unless SHIELD or rather HYDRA wanted Steve to fall into the role of an obedient soldier, then it made perfect sense. Steven ground his teeth together and vowed to make sure the ones responsible for integrating Steve back into the world and failing so miserably never saw the light of day again. Steve was no blindly obedient soldier, he was a prince; a King! He didn’t follow anyone he didn’t want to, and he made sure you knew it. Before this was over Steven was going to show SHIELD just who they thawed out of the ice in the first place.

                “Following’s not really my style,” Tony shot back, popping a handful of blueberries into his mouth. Steve looked down his nose at Tony and Steven suppressed a wince.

                “And you’re all about style, aren’t you,” Steve said scathingly. Tony let it run off him effortlessly and Steven could not take his eyes off Tony’s flippant manner. It was like seeing a train wreck coming and you couldn’t help but watch.

                “Of the people in this room,” Tony quipped, “which one is, A) wearing a spangly outfit and B) not of use?” Steven shot Banner a pleading look with his eyes and signed help.  Banner must have seen where this was heading because he interrupted Tony’s evisceration of Steve’s sense of self-worth.

                “Steve,” he said softly, and Steve looked at him, “tell me none of this smells a little funky to you.” Steve looked back and forth at the pair and turned away.

                “Just find the Cube,” Steve said softly as he marched out of the room.  Steven looked at the spot Steve had recently vacated, then back at Tony.

                “You could have handled that a little better,” Steven said. “How would you feel after finding out that your war isn’t over after seventy years? He lost his best friend stopping the _last_ mad man from using that thing, and gave his life so that we would all be standing here. You could have been a little more respectful. He’s lost _everything_. Can you blame him for being a little jaded?” Steven calmly turned and followed Steve out of the room but before he reached the door he stopped and said over his shoulder, “you might want to look for any references to a ‘Phase Two’; if you want to actually find your answers.”

                “How did you,” Tony asked, and Steven turned with a smirk pulling wickedly across his lips.

                “Let’s just say you’re not the only one who can hack SHIELD,” Steven said then full on grinned, “And I have… a friend… to help me.” Steven turned and followed Steve out.

~*~*

* * *

 

When Steve leaves he is fuming on the inside. He stopped just outside the door and mulled over the thoughts in his head. Steven saw him standing there in his ridiculous uniform, the cut of his shoulders just a hair too ridged and his jaw clenched tight. Steven saw the inner debate and knew that Steve was already beginning to doubt SHIELD’s mantra. All he needed was a push to get him to be that old Steve Rogers again, disobeying orders to find the truth and for the greater good.

                “You have doubts, my Captain,” Steven finally said. Steve jolted from his thoughts, and whirled around to look at the masked man leaning casually on the door frame just outside the lab. Steve turned his thoughts over in his head, debating whether or not he should trust this man, before he decided that he was a better choice than anyone else.

                “He has a valid point,” Steve said, “Stark that is.” Steve clenched his jaw in the same way he used to when he saw some injustice that he wanted to fix. “They’re hiding something about the Tesseract; it’s got every hair on the back of my neck on end.” Steven stared at his old Captain for a moment with a blank face, before his lips pulled into a cheeky grin.

                “Then I suggest, my good Captain,” Steve said, plying on the accent thickly, “that we find out the truth for ourselves.” Steven’s smirk turns positively wicked, with just a hint of malicious glee. “It’ll be fun,” he encouraged when he saw Steve’s doubtful look, “like in old days, in the War, when you actually had to look for evidence and intelligence on the enemy.” Steven pulled away from the wall and motioned Steve to follow. “Come on, cap. Shall we go spying?” Steve looked around for a moment before he squared his jaw and marched off toward the secure storage bays, mind made up. Steven followed behind Steve with a self-satisfied smile. He was having a ball. He hadn’t had a chance to be himself like this in a very long time, and being around Steve brought out his most childish qualities that he had thought long lost. Nostalgia gave him a spring in his step like he hadn’t had in a long time, and for the first time in years he felt like he used to before the Red Room.

Steven followed at a safe distance behind his Captain and helped turn suspicious heads away and back to their jobs. Steve is no spy, and that bright get-up of his was just too flashy for undercover work. Even in the War Steve was a lousy spy. He just didn’t have the mentality and temperament for it. Steven and Bucky on the other hand, were perfect for it. They knew just what to do and what needed to be done. The only reason Steven hadn’t done more spy work was because of his close relationship with Steve and his very recognizable features: his unusual luminous blue eyes, his sunshine gold hair, and his elvish ears. Steven smiled anyway, just loving the fact that Steve was being more himself than he had since he woke up, or maybe he just hadn’t felt safe enough to show people Steve Rogers the way he did with Yasha, or in Hithlum with Arthadan.

                (“Steven,”) Jonathan said, as he initiated a telepathic conversation. Steven rolled his eyes and followed Steve down another hallway towards the storage bay.

                (“what is it, Jonny,”) Steven asked, (“I’m kinda busy at the moment. Can it wait?”)

                (“No,”) Jonathan replied, his tone a litter disturbed, (“Fury just asked Thor if he could torture the location of the Cube out of Loki.”) Steven paused, and shook his head as he and Steve snuck around another corner.

                (“Loki will only give that up if it gives him the advantage,”) Steven said, (“no, I don’t think that’ll work. Loki will give his information to no one, unless it’s on purpose or it’s by accident.”) Steven smirked and in a pique of curiosity linked to the security systems. With cold and vicious glee, Steven smiled. (“Natasha’s already on it.”) Steven said. Jonathan quickly checked and sure enough, Natasha was on her way to the detention center. Jonathan smirked and huffed wryly.

                (“She’s on her way,”) Jonathan confirmed before he cut the link and severed their conversation. Steven chuckled as the finally found the right door. For a brief moment Steven actually felt a swell of pity for the Asgardian before he pushed it aside and stood guard while Steve quietly broke open the door. Steven had an idea of what they were looking for and tapped Steve on the shoulder. Using military sign he pointed to the upper terrace. Steve was surprisingly quiet as he leapt up and caught the railing, his feet not making a single sound as he climbed over the edge with cat-like stealth. Steven quickly followed, his boots making even less sound on the metal grates as he caught the edge of the railing and flipped over the side into a crouch.  He tapped Steve’s arm to get his attention. When Steve turned, Steven was close enough to whisper.

                “We’re looking for anything with containers that say Phase Two,” Steven informed the Captain with a quiet whisper. “They’ll most likely be in crates.”

                “How do you know this,” Steve asked just as quietly. Steven turned to the Captain with a wry cut to his smile.

                “You didn’t think that SHIELD was completely air-tight with the projects,” Steven answered, “the Agency caught wind of Project PEGASUS a while back, and began monitoring their communications. They picked up a mention of a Phase Two but no background, so they started digging. I was sent to find hard evidence. What little we know is that it’s a physical project, that there are prototypes, they should be here.” Steve nodded and turned back around to start looking for the right ones.

Steven followed behind and split off once it was obvious that there were too many to search one by one. Steven had just popped open another crate of just old parts, when Steve called out in a whisper.

                “Stevan,” he said, “I think you need to see this.” Steven turned and saw Steve at the end of the room staring down into an opened crate. Steven approached and when he was close enough to see Steve’s face he knew it was bad. Steve’s eyes were cold and filled with barely restrained fury, his jaw set and his lips thinned.  Steven approached the crate and soon saw why, and their appearance left him stunned and cold. In the crate were weapons alright, but they were things that he thought he would never see again: HYDRA guns, and the distinctive masks of a HYDRA soldier. Steven looked up and saw Steve boiling with righteous fury, and for once he hated being right.

This was not going to end well.

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End note: this chapter was long! I hope you like. Well that’s the end of the buildup chapters. Up next: the Battle on the Helicarrier, and Loki’s escape. I hope you liked this chapter, because it took me forever to write. So much dialogue! The next part is going to be a lot of action, and some dialogue, but mostly action. I’m sorry that I didn’t do Loki’s interrogation, but it didn’t flow with my Steve centered scenes, so that got the ax, but at least its impact is the same.  
> I hope you forgive me for taking so dang long, but it is hard to write or get motivation to write, but I will try to get a few more chapters out before everything freezes again. Actually I think I’ll set a goal of finishing this before the end of September. I might not make it but the deadline will give me a kick in the butt to get moving. 


	9. The Battle Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven shows just how much of a badass he really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: this is going to be a long and very drawn out battle sequence followed by a lull and ramp up for more action. Sorry but I can’t /won’t do the Battle of New York. One battle is hard enough with the changes I need to make to the scenes, by adding Steven and Yasha and Jonathan, so this will be it for the Avengers battles. I hope you like this and will keep commenting because they make my day when I see them.  
> On to the Fic

~*~*~*

* * *

 

The look in Steve’s eye when he saw those guns and masks promised murder, and for the first time in his life, Steven was scared of what Steve might do. Not only that, he was glad that Steve never carried a gun, or his family sword at his belt, as per tradition. It didn’t matter that they had no power, Steven knew, and by effect Steve too, that they were Phase Two. Steve clenched his jaw and looked out towards the lab, his lips thinning in fury that built up like a pressure cooker in his chest. Without a second of hesitation, Steve grabbed one of the guns and marched out of the cargo bay and towards the lab. Steven followed closely behind, actually afraid of what Steve might do. Once Steve’s temper was up and he started swinging, he was like a freight train; nothing could stop him. He was strange like that. One minute he was the immovable object, as solid and rooted as a mountain, the next he was an unstoppable force of nature. As Dean Winchester once said about Curses, the same could be applied to Steve: you don’t stop them; you just get the hell out of their way!

Steve arrived to the Lab with an argument already in full swing.

                “You’ll get your Cube back,” Steven heard Tony and he felt his heart plummet in his chest. The genius would only make this worse. If he pushed Steve’s buttons right now Steve might actually throw the first punch. “No muss, no fuss. What is Phase Two,” Tony asked.

For the most part Steve’s entrance went wholly unnoted, that is until Steve dropped the HYDRA Weapon onto a lab table with a metallic _CLANG_! Then every eye in the room was trained on Steve and Steven as they entered the room.

                “Phase Two is SHIELD uses the Cube to make weapons,” Steve answered first, the look in his eye positively mutinous. Steven knew his expression was not much better, his eyes were glowing with restrained power and his lips pulled into a severe glower; thin as a razor. “Sorry,” Steve said to Tony, unapologetic in his tone, “Computer was moving a little slow for me.” Steven saw the horrified look on Banner’s face and the quick fire expression of panic and disgust that ran over Stark’s face before he turned back to the computers, trying to out maneuver Fury’s lie before it took hold.

                “Rogers,” Fury said in a placating tone, as he turned to the Captain, “we gathered everything related to the Tesseract.” He slowly approached Steve as if her were a threat. “This does not mean that we’re making…” Steven saw Tony access the right file and bring it up on his screen.

                “I’m sorry, Nick,” Tony said as he turned the display around to show a Tesseract powered warhead. “What were you lying?” Steven snapped his eyes over to Nick Fury and if looks could kill, Fury would be nothing but ashes.

                “ _Bozhe moy_ ,” Steven exclaimed, “do you have any idea what those things did to people!? I’ve _seen_ what they did, and there is _nothing_ good about them! And you want to create _more_ of them?! Those weapons are _death_! They protect _no one_!” Steve looked at Steven with respect and no small amount of curiosity. He turned back to Fury with the same cold look of disdain on his face as he once had while interrogating Nazis.

                “I was wrong, Director,” Steve said with his eyes fixed on Fury, his eyes like ice, “the world hasn’t changed _a bit_.” Steven noted Natasha and Thor entering the room, the agent’s eyes wary and cold. Banner turned to her and pointed at the screen with his glasses.

                “Did you know about this,” he asked.

                “You want to think about removing yourself from this environment, Doctor,” Natasha said as she cautiously approached the man. Banner chuckled wryly and edged away from her.

                “I was in Calcutta,” he said, “I was pretty well removed.” Natasha approached again.

                “Loki is manipulating you,” she explained. Banner glared at her coolly.

                “And you’ve been doing what exactly,” Banner asked sarcastically, with a glare.

                “You didn’t come here because I bat my eyelashes at you,” Natasha shot back. Steven turned a sharp glare at the girl he once trained. Her form was confident but Steven could see the hesitance and the fear there too. Whatever it was that Loki had told her, had her unnerved; enough that she was on the offensive and wasn’t playing anymore.

                “Yes, and I’m not leaving because suddenly you get a little twitchy,” Banner attacked and moved away and to the screen again. He grabbed the screen and pointed his glasses at the pictures of the bombs and guns on it. “I’d like to know why SHIELD is using the Tesseract to create _weapons of mass destruction_?!” Banner demanded. Steven turned to Nick and sent the man a chilling glare. The dark, one eyed director remained silent for a moment.

                “Because of him,” Fury said, breaking the silence as he pointed at Thor.

                “Me,” Thor asked. Thor looked genuinely shocked and confused. Steven looked at the Asgardian then Fury and waited for an explanation. Fury didn’t disappoint.

                “Last year, Earth had a visitor from another planet,” Fury explained, “who had a _grudge match_ that _leveled_ a small town.” Steven couldn’t help the snort that came out of his nose at the excuse.

                “Where were you when Lucifer rose and decided to destroy the world,” Steven grumbled under his breath. Steve looked at his dark companion with wide eyes and shock. Steven winced; Steve wasn’t supposed to hear that. “I’ll explain later.”

                “Not only did we find out that we are not alone,” Fury continued, “but we are hopelessly, _hilariously_ , out gunned.” Fury turned and looked right at Steve, expecting him to understand, but Steve just glared back with all the disdain he could muster.

                “My people want nothing but peace with your planet,” Thor defended. Fury turned and looked at Thor.

                “But you’re not the only people out there, are you,” he asked desperately. “And you’re not the only threat. The world’s filling up with people who can’t be matched, that can’t be controlled.” Steve and Tony shared the same look of disdain as they glared at the one eyed man, only Steve was the one to voice the thought in their heads.

                “Like you controlled the Cube,” Steve demanded, knowing just what had happened now; he was being another man’s cleanup crew.

                “Your work with the Tesseract is what drew Loki to it, and his allies,” Thor explained fervently. “It is a signal to the realms that the Earth is ready for a _higher form_ of war.” Steven felt his eyes widen a little with fear. If this was a higher form, he was truly terrified of what had just barely missed them.

                “A higher form,” both he and Steve asked in unison. Steven looked back and forth between Thor and Fury, as he suddenly began to hear that discord again.

                “You forced our hand,” Fury said. Steven clenched his eyes shut and tried to block out the siren song growing in the back of his mind, while all around, discord and distrust grew. “We had to come up with something.”

                “A nuclear deterrent,” Tony interrupted, Fury turned and Stark continued, “Because that always calms everything right down.” Fury gave Tony a cold look, and Steven heard the discord grow. He took a step back and wanted nothing more than to stop his ears.

                “Remind me again how you made your fortune, Stark,” Fury shot back. Steven barely caught Steve pacing forward to drop in his own two cents.

                “I’m sure if he still made weapons, Stark would be neck-deep…” Steve said, but was interrupted by Tony.

                “Wait a minute, hold on,” Tony asked, “how is this about me?” Steve turned his distrust on Tony, and Steven clenched his eyes shut, trying with all his might to block out the chaotic noise that was in the place of the Music he normally heard.

                “I’m sorry,” Steve shot back sarcastically, “isn’t everything.”

                “I thought humans were more evolved than this,” Thor asked. Steven tried to stopper the chaos and discord, but it was in vain.

                “ _Excuse me,_ ” Fury said, “do we come to your planet and blow stuff up?”

                “You treat your champions with such mistrust.”

                “You’re not my champion.”

                “Are you boys really that naïve,” Natasha’s voice cut through the fog for a second, “SHIELD monitors potential threats.”

                “Captain America’s on threat watch,” Banner’s voice cut in with sarcastic disdain.

                “We all are,” Natasha said.

                “Wait, you’re on that list,” Tony’s voice called out sharply. Steven grits his teeth and clenched his eyes tighter. The Music was disjointed and warped, and sang a sirens song of distrust and chaos. “Are you above or below angry bees?”

                “Stark, so help me God,” Steve’s voice cut through the song angrily, “if you make one more wisecrack…”

                “Threat,” A voice rose up, “Verbal threat,” Tony’s voice sliced in, “I feel threatened!”

                “Show some respect,” Steve’s voice cut in.

                “Respect what,” Tony’s shot back. Suddenly Steven felt a cloying voice in his mind, and his eyes shot open. His eyes found the staff, and zeroed in on the glowing gem at the tip.

                “The Scepter,” Steven whispered, finally realizing that his was Loki’s plan all along: to get them so angry at each other that they could never fight him.

~*~*

* * *

 

                “You speak of control yet you court chaos,” Thor’s voice chimed in from far away, as Steven searched for the source of the alarm his senses screamed at him for. He looked around and saw the others engaged in a meaningless argument, and opened his mouth to shout when suddenly he heard a whisper just at the edges of his senses.

                “That’s his M.O. isn’t it,” Banner said, “I mean, what are we, a team? No we’re a chemical mixture that makes chaos. We’re… we’re a time bomb.”

                “You need to step away,” Fury ordered. Steven scanned and scanned, ignoring the argument.

                “Why shouldn’t the guy let off a little steam,” Stark asked.

                “You know _damn well why_ ,” Steve shot back, “ _back off!_ ”  Steven looked over his shoulder sharply, and stretched out his senses quickly.

                “Oh, I’m starting to want you to make me,” Tony said.

                “Yeah,” Steve said walking around Tony in a menacing way, “big man in a suit of armor. Take that off, what are you?” Steve asked, leaning in close.

                “Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist,” Tony shot back.

                “I know guys with none of that worth ten of you,” Steve shot back, obviously thinking of his Commandoes. “Yeah, I’ve seen the footage. The only thing you really fight for is yourself. You’re not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you.”

                “I think I would just cut the wire,” Tony shot back. Steve snorted in disdain.

                “Always a way out,” Steve said in derision, “you know, you may not be a threat, but you better _stop_ pretending to be a hero.”

                “ _A hero_ ,” Tony asked, “ _Like you_? You’re a laboratory experiment, Rogers. Everything _special_ about you came out of a _bottle_.”

                “Put on the suit. Let’s go a few rounds,” Steve challenged. Thor laughed.

                “You people are so petty, and tiny,” Thor said.

                “Yeah,” Bruce said, “this is a team.” The noise in the room fell away and then at the edge of his senses he felt it: the same discord he felt in Germany at the edge of his mind.

                “Agent Romanoff, would you escort Dr. Banner…” Fury said.

                “Where,” Banner asked, “you rented my room.”

                “The cell was just in case,” Fury explained.

                “In case you needed to kill me,” Banner interrupted, with contained fury, “but you can’t. I know, I tried.” The room turned to Banner, and Steven felt his senses falter in their search as they all turned to Banner to explain. “I got low. I didn’t see an end. So, I put a bullet in my mouth and the Other Guy spit it out! So I moved on. I focused on helping other people. I was good. Until you dragged me back into this freak show, and put everyone here at risk!” Steven saw the Scepter in his hand and shut his eyes to block out the image, focusing on his search. “You wanna know my secret, Agent Romanoff. You wanna know how I stay calm?”

                “Dr. Banner,” Steve said calmly, “put down the Scepter.” The room was still for a moment, before an alarm on the computers finally dinged.

                “Got it,” Fury said with relief.

Steven searched and suddenly he found it. His eyes snapped open and with wide-eyed shock Steven realized that it was imprinted over another mind. He quickly dropped his mental shields and reached out with his telepathy, zeroing in on the mind touched by the Scepter. Steven audibly gasped, when he recognized it as Barton, and felt his eyes widen in fear when he realized what was about to happen.

                “Sorry, kids, you don’t get to see my party trick after all,” Banner said as he dropped the scepter and walked over to the computer.

                “You located the Tesseract,” Thor said.

                “I could get there fastest,” Tony shot out.

                “The Tesseract belongs on Asgard,” Thor argued. “No human is a match for it.”

                “You’re not going alone,” Steve said grabbing Tony’s arm. Tony brushed it off.

                “You gonna stop me,” Tony shot back.

                “Put on the suit, let’s find out,” Steve said. Tony got right into Steve’s face. Suddenly the discord fell away and all his abilities fell into crystal clear focus.

                “I’m not afraid to hit an old man,” Tony challenged.

                “Put on the Suit,” Steve ordered. Steven scanned the ship with lightning speed, and sensed an arrow attached to the hull; and it was armed. Steven looked over at the pair locked, nose to nose, like a pair of Tom Cats gearing up for a fight.

                (“ ** _YASHA, JONATHAN, BRACE FOR IMPACT_** ,”) Steven screamed out in his mind to his brothers.

                “Oh, my God,” Banner said once he finally saw the location. Steven felt the detonation signal a second before it reached the arrow, and it was long enough for his horror to bleed out into the room. Steve looked over Tony’s shoulder just in time to lock eyes with Steven. Steven felt the blood drain from his face as terror and realization set in.

                “Bomb,” Steven barely gasped out before he felt the detonation wave. With lightning reflexes, Steven lunged for the pair, just as the blast traveled up the vents in the floor and hit the room. Steven flung a telekinetic shield around both Steve and Tony to protect them and the unborn children Steve carried, as he wrapped himself around them physically to shield them from the blast. Instinctively Steven felt the heat and dug deep to shield them. Later once all the chaos was over and the battle was won, the security looking at the feed would swear that a pair of massive wings made of fire and light had wrapped around them to shield them from the blast.

~~**~

* * *

 

The first thing Steven does once the blast settles is check on his brothers. A quick mental prod in their direction awarded him with an okay from them both. They were rattled but otherwise okay. Within the next breath Steven checked on his clone. His senses quickly alerted him that he was uninjured and for now safe. He quickly opened his eyes and shook the disorientation out of his head. This also alerted him to the fact that his ears were ringing and muffled because of the blast. He lifted his head and found himself half lying on Tony and Steve’s legs. His coat was singed but otherwise fine, and he couldn’t detect any injury to his person, so with a low groan he rolled off Tony’s legs and onto the space between Steve and the inventor.  It took a second for the pair to get their bearings but once they did Steve looked up at Stark with shock and some panic. Tony looked stunned, but once he saw Steve looking at him purpose and duty overrode his intense dislike of the man for a moment.

                “Put on the Suit,” Steve said as he scrambled to his feet. Tony scrambled up with panic, but stayed relatively calm.

                “Yeah,” he gasped as he staggered to his feet. Steven grits his teeth and stood up as quickly as he dared. He may have been uninjured but a blast like that still left some bruises, and he felt a little sore. Steven shook the fuzziness out of his head, and ruthlessly shoved away the pain. It was a trick he had perfected in his years with the Red Room, but it was a useful one that he never felt the need to leave behind. Steven stumbled into the doorway and leaned against the frame as he took a second to get his bearings.

                “You okay,” Steven heard a voice ask, and felt a hand gently touch his shoulder. Steven looked up sharply only to see Steve’s concerned face staring at him.

                “This is half the reason I retired,” Steve grumbled and stood up, giving his head a vicious shake to clear the dizziness. “Go help Stark, Captain,” Steven said, and Steve quickly rushed off to follow Tony to Turbine three. Steven didn’t want to admit it, but he more than likely had a concussion and shouldn’t be using his powers like this while so injured, because he control could be so off that he would be a danger to others. He was so dazed that he barely registered Fury coming up behind him.

                “You gonna be alright,” he asked, Steven looked up quickly and nodded.

                “Just need to get my bearing,” Steven said, “It’s been a while.” Fury nodded and quickly rushed off towards the bridge, giving orders as he went. For half a second Steven took a breather to shake off his disorientation, before he stretched out his senses to assess the damage. He brushed his mind over the computer systems and to his relief the engine was only damaged not destroyed like he feared. Once that moment of relief was gone he searched for Barton, and too his horror, he found that the man was already on board. With him were several insurgents with nothing good on the mind, so Steven oriented himself and opened a telepathic link to his brothers.

                (“Jonathan, Yasha,”) Steven called, (“enemy agents are on board. Barton brought them. Be prepared for an attack on the bridge!”)

                (“Will do,”) Jonathan answered.

                (“Got it,”) Yasha’s reply came a second later. Steven turned his mind back to the insurgents and found them heading for the bridge. Not wanting his brothers in a middle of a firefight without his protection, Steven finally shook off the last dregs of his dizziness and headed for the bridge. Steven sent his clone to one of the many blind spots on the way, where they could meet. He was lucky that it was closer him than the bridge at this moment, but regardless, Steven still had to run to get there. Once he did, he called back the part of himself within the clone, causing it to disburse. Steven wanted his entire mind in one place and all of his senses prepared for a fight and that meant no copies or clones running about. It only took a minute but it was long enough that when Steven started back towards the bridge at a rather quick pace, not yet running because of the chaos around him and the lack of space, he caught Yasha’s cry of alarm telepathically while still on the way.

                (“ ** _STEVEN,_** ”) Yasha cried, (“ ** _THEIR ALREADY HERE!_** ”) The cry was so sudden that it brought Steven to a complete halt in the middle of the hallway. He stood there, wide-eyed and numb for a moment before he clenched his jaw and closed his eyes.

Flight was hard, no matter how Gabriel or Michael explained or tried to describe the process. Steven learned best by observing, and this was one thing that he _could not_ observe. So he finally gave up on doing it logically and followed his instinct; just as both Gabriel and Michael had told Steven in the end when all efforts to teach had failed and he had proven too human to understand. So Steven closed his eyes and let all the chaos and noise fall away and flow around him until he was an island of peace. Once he found his point of absolute focus and control, Steven dug deep into that core of power that welled up from within, not stopping until he had gathered it all in his grasp. Once he gathered it there, with a single breath he pulled that power to the surface, dragging that molten core of raw power and intent to the surface and filling out the frames that were built into his very soul.

The first time this happened, it wasn’t by his will, but rather when HYDRA first gave him the Serum back in 1950. It had always been there, this power; it had shown itself to be there on D-Day at Normandy. That time it had only been a crack in the wall that held it back, but when HYDRA gave him the Serum it had an unexpected result. They had forgotten that the Serum amplified _everything_ inside and that included that crack in his mind and soul, holding back all that power. When they gave it to him, that wall had shattered, and into his soul poured power unfathomable. Michael said it was because he was a True Vessel, just like his Ada; that he was a Michael Sword. That he was meant to contain the power of not just an Archangel, but The Archangel: Michael. Steven couldn’t truly understand that his power was equal to that of the Great General of Hosts. It was frightening enough to have it, but to essentially be as powerful as an Archangel on par with Michael; to be told this by Michael himself, it was absolutely terrifying. He didn’t know what to do with this power at first so he learned. And the first thing any angel learned was to fly.

So Steven gathered this power, thrust it to the surface, and let it take anchorage on the frames of his soul. Once he had it firmly anchored Steven opened his eyes and flung his body to the bridge, great wings of light and flame unfurling from his back in that brief second before flight, before they snapped hard in a single beat. In the blink of an eye he was gone; the only evidence of his leaving was the sound of a great pair of feathered wings flapping and the snap of air rushing into the void where he had left.

~*~*

* * *

 

Steven’s entrance to the bridge was akin to a hurricane blowing in, or perhaps a dragon; the only warning was the sound like the flapping of giant wings before he arrived in a flash. Said flash not only blinded everyone enough that they didn’t know how he entered; it gave Steven the upper hand he needed to wreak hell on the insurgents with all his powers unleashed. Steven’s first victim fell to his hand to hand skills, striking the man in the arm to disarm him, shattering bones in the process, and then following up with a rapid fire karate cop to the neck and haymaker to the ribs. The last blow was to throw the man bodily away from the entrance to blast his buddies with a lightning strike of electricity; dropping them like stones to the floor. The next man didn’t fair even that well with a full strength heel-kick to his diaphragm, crushing his ribs, sternum and hemorrhaging his diaphragm. All four men were dead in less than thirty seconds, leaving the fifth hesitant enough for Steven to pull out his gun and shoot him in the head. The sixth man was quickly shot by both Yasha and Hill, before either Steven or Fury could turn.

Steven sent the woman a nod of thanks before he used his powers to bring up one of the guns and give it to Yasha.

                “Guard the door,” Steven ordered as he drew his weapons. Yasha took the gun and took a perfect spot to rest his barrel and steady his aim. He shot two more before Steven took his own stance with both of his Colt .45s pointed at the doors. Steven fired off enough rounds to empty his clips, dropping men with each double tap to the head.

The whole affair was bloody and brutal and put into sharp relief just how dangerous HYDRA and the Red Room had made him. Once Steven had given them a bit of breathing room, he retreated to a safe distance for cover. Fury shot another insurgent with a quick double tap.

                “They are _not_ getting through here,” he grumbled, “so what the hell are they…?” Fury didn’t even get a chance to finish his question before an explosion answered it for him. Steven had just enough time to duck before, debris rained down on him. A frighteningly familiar scream had him turning to see Jonathan clutching his side as he scooted away to under a computer station. Steven’s training and his instincts finally clashed when he saw his baby brother with blood on his uniform as he clutched his side, and he froze.

                “ **JONNY** ,” Yasha screamed, dashing to his brother’s side. Yasha’s cry broke Steven out of his stupor and he dove to Jonathan’s side.

                “Of all the stupid,” Steven whispered harshly as he pressed his hand to Jonathan’s bleeding wound. “Lemme see,” Steven ordered softly, and carefully pulled Jonathan’s hands away to see the wound. Steven quickly widened the tear in his shirt before quickly and gently probing the wound. To his relief it was shallow and there was nothing in it, so with a breath he pressed his hand to it and sent a burst of healing energy to close the wound. “You get that seen to later,” he ordered, just before he looked up to see Barton in an access duct near the ceiling. He had an arrow knocked to his bow and aimed for a control panel. Steven only got a quick look at him before he fired, but what he saw was chilling. The cold blankness and ruthless efficiency in his eyes coupled with the pallor of his skin and bruising around his eyes told Steven that he was being controlled but he was also fighting it hard. The sheer exhaustion he felt, even from the short distance was unbelievable.

Then Barton loosed his arrow. Steven lunged for it and missed it by mere centimeters. The tip lodged into an input jack before deploying two wings that attached themselves in the rest. Steven felt the virus and sent Barton a snarling glare. Jonathan scrambled up to look at the stations going dark one by one. Fury stood up and fired at Barton but he slipped away and was missed.

                “Engine one is now on shutdown,” Jonathan said as the station blinked out. Jonathan turned to Steven and saw the fury in his eyes. “Stevan, can you get him? Can you stop him?” Steven grits his teeth and gave a sharp nod. Suddenly the whole bridge pitched sideways and Steven had to lean hard to keep his footing.

                “Sir,” Sitwell said, “we’ve lost all power on engine one.” Fury tapped his com-link.

                “It’s Barton,” Fury said, “he took out our systems. He’s headed for the detention level. Does anybody copy?” Steven was about to make a dash for the door when a shaky voice came over the coms.

                “This is Agent Romanoff,” Natasha said, “I copy.”

                “Stevan,” Fury said, gaining the darkly clothed man’s attention, “Can you stop Loki?” Steven looked at the director with barely veiled fury.

                “I can sure as hell make him hurt trying,” Steven said with grit teeth and a snarl.

                “Good,” Fury said, “then do it.” and Steven did.

~*~

* * *

 

Steven bolted through the doors like a bat out of hell, careening through hallways and dodging crewmen left and right.

                “MAKE A HOLE,” Steven shouted, warning them to get out of the way. Men ducked into doorways and flattened themselves on walls to make room for the flying juggernaut driving through the halls. Steven took a turn towards the detention level and suddenly screeched to a grinding halt. He cocked his head like a dog listening for a sound as his senses picked up the faint signature that he had come to associate with the scepter: that siren song of discord that made everything fall into chaos. Steven turned and moved away from the detention level, and started for a path that would take Loki to the deck. Yasha’s words before he bolted from the bridge rung in his mind.

                “ _Block any path that would take him to the flight deck,”_ Yasha had shouted at him. Steven brought up a mental map of the carrier and scanned for a hole, or a place that could easily be breached. What he found was an innocuous vent that lead up to the flight deck, and if it was Barton leading the charge, that would be where the infamous Hawkeye would make his entry. And if it was where they all entered, then it would be their extraction point as well. Steven streaked into the hallway and saw daylight. He slowed just enough to see the repelling lines and the bent vent grate lying on the floor before he surged past, seeking out that disruptive sound that the Scepter made so well.

Steven turned into a hall and felt the presence of the scepter as well as Loki’s as second before they came stumbling into view. Steven took an imposing stance in the middle of the hall, blocking Loki’s only path to freedom. Loki was looking over his shoulder before he turned and stopped short. Steven seemed to melt out of the shadows like a wraith from his worst nightmare, his golden hair in sharp contrast to his dark red and black clothing. Steven had taken his gun in hand and had his knife ready to use at his side. His silent defiance pulled Loki’s grin right off his face.

                “Ah,” Loki said with a manic grin after a moment of silence. “You must be the Knight.” Steven remained as still and unmoving as stone. “They said you were dead, yet here you are: flesh and bone, alive.” Steven’s eyes narrowed before he finally moved, and even then it was only to take a wider stance across the hall.

                “What happened to you, Loki,” Steven said, “you’re nothing like Lauro described you. I would trust him about you more than your brother.” Loki seemed to flinch at the name, and Steven latched on. “He loves you, he does,” Steven affirmed when Loki shook his head in denial. “Archangel’s don’t stop loving their mates, even when they fall. Personally,” Steven said as his soft eyes then turned to diamonds, “I think he would prefer a dead beloved than a living monster.” Loki snarled and blindly charged, swinging his scepter like a glaive. Steven dodged, blocking the blow and striking back with a blast of electricity to Loki’s side. Loki rolled away grunting in pain.  He looked up and saw Steven take a fighting stance. “take it from another Archangel, Loki,” Steven said his whole form beginning to glow, the electrical sparks dancing around his hands turning into glowing orbs of angelic grace, and his eyes shining with heavenly light, “the last thing you want is to break his heart, because he has six other brothers willing to _blast_ you into the Empty for that sin!” he ground out, in fury, “and you don’t want it to be _Michael_ that finds you _first_.”

Steven closed his eyes and suddenly the dim glow became an angelic halo, bright and golden with silver and blue, surrounding his form. Then with no warning Steven’s eyes opened and within them Loki saw true Angelic might shining from the depths, and a pair of massive wings suddenly unfurled from his back. They were like nothing he’d ever seen, and perfectly matched Steven’s halo of fiery light. At the base closest to his back they are an electric blue, sparking and flashing like a live flame, before they faded into brilliant white, glowing and flickering around each feather, and then at the farthest edge they became gold and red. They were like living flames lashing and shifting, and each feather was a tongue of fire; growing hotter as it came closer to his core. Around his head was a glowing wreath, like a crown, a spinning circlet of stars; a diadem proclaiming his place among the Mighty. Loki looked upon him, and, for the first time, was afraid. Steven took a fighting stance and lunged at Loki. The trickster lashed out and blocked the blow, but only barely. Loki brought up the Scepter to attack and Steven brought his fists together, drawing them apart horizontally, manifesting a great Elvish War Glaive, with both Elven runes and Enochian sigils running down the blade and the shaft. Steven swung the glaive in a wide arch, catching the Scepter as it moved to strike him. Loki tried to blast him with it, only for Steven to hold up his hand and absorb the power, making him glow brighter and strike out again.

Steven swung the glaive over his head, as he spun round, and brought the blade down towards the Trickster. Loki dove out of the way and lunged close so Steven couldn’t use the full power of those great cleaving swings.  Steven countered Loki’s attacks with the shaft, and Loki finally seemed to have enough. He blasted Steven back with his magic, causing Steven to stumble slightly, blinded, before he launched himself at Steven with the Scepter’s blade pointed at Steven’s chest. Steven blinked away the stars just in time to see Loki lunge at him. It was in too close quarters to do anything but bring the shaft of the Glaive up to catch the Scepter between the blades. Steven looked down at the blades and noted with growing horror that there was fresh blood on them. Steven’s eyes snapped up to Loki’s face, and saw the manic grin there and the hazy blue film over his normally emerald green eyes. Pure rage filled Steven’s being, and he snarled at Loki in righteous fury.

                “You have heart,” Loki said with a wild grin, “I think I’ll use that.” Loki began to press harder onto the Scepter, driving it slowly down towards Steven’s chest. Steven saw in his mind a quick flash of Barton having the scepter gently pressed against his heart before his mind went blue. Steven realized that this was how he turned Barton and Selvig, and he wanted nothing to do with it. He swore he would never be another man’s puppet for as long as he lived, and he would be damned if it was going to be Loki that made him kill innocents again. Steven felt his fear overcoming his fury, and his grasp began to slip on those angelic powers. Just as the scepter was about to touch his chest, Steven heard a soothing voice ring out of his memory.

                “ _You don’t need rage to control your powers, Steven,” Professor Xavier said, “what you need is focus. It is my belief that true focus, and control, comes at a point between rage and serenity.”_ Steven closed his eyes and felt for that spot Xavier had touched to help him find that control. It was the brightest spot in his mind, full of love and joy. One of his earliest memories of his Ada, swinging him around in the air, making him fly like a bird. Steven remembered the laughter he felt, and shared with his Ada, and the happiness there also. A simpler time, for a simpler person, but it gave him just the anchor he needed. When Steven opened his eyes they were over flowing with tears, but there was a surety to them and focus that he hadn’t before. “ _Rage and Serenity,”_ Xavier said, and Steven pushed.  With a scream of rage, Steven threw Loki away with a blast of telekinetic power.

Loki rolled with the blast to come up to his feet and saw Steven standing again, his eyes bright with tears but clear and full of focus. The light in his eyes was razor sharp and this time it wasn’t a glow of light that brought Loki to heel in fear: it was the fact that around this halo of light the whole area around them began to grow dark. It was as if Steven was taking all the light from the room and concentrating it around his form, like a light in the dark. And what Loki saw in Steven’s eyes was terrifying. It wasn’t murder. It wasn’t death. No, it was absolute destruction promised in those glowing blue and white orbs that sent a chill of fear racing down Loki’s spine.

                “ _I will never be another man’s slave_ ,” Steven seethed, through gritted teeth. Loki, seeing no way out, lunged at Steven with a flash, temporarily blinding him. When the spots cleared from Steven’s eyes Loki was gone. Steven howled with fury, but accepted the loss. He stood there for a long moment, seething in quiet rage, as he calmed himself down, and let go of that molten core of power. Suddenly Steven felt a cry in his mind for help. His head jerked up and he stretched out his senses. Steven gasped with dawning horror that it was Coulson who was calling out for help; and it wasn’t a call, but a prayer.

Steven bolted for the detention level, and Loki’s cell, praying to whoever listening that Coulson would still be alive when he got there.

~*~*

* * *

 

                “It’s okay, boss,” Steven heard Coulson’s faint voice as he rounded the corner and saw him leaned against the wall, bleeding, dying, Fury kneeling down in front of him. “It was never going to work…” Coulson’s voice got fainter and weaker, and Steven felt horror like he had never known, and something else: failure. It tasted like bitter ashes in his mouth, and salty tears. “If they didn’t have something… to…” Coulson was struggling to breathe and speak, and Steven knew that he was going to die, but he just couldn’t move. “To…” a tear run down Coulson’s cheek and Steven felt his own blur his vision. Suddenly Coulson’s chest stopped moving as a med team slipped past him. They went to kneel beside him and suddenly Steven moved.

With a single movement, Steven threw one aside and knelt beside the agent. He wasn’t breathing, but Steven could feel the faint flutter of life still inside him. Steven knew he shouldn’t do this, that his energy was depleted after fighting Loki, but he had no choice but to do this or let Coulson die; and by God he wasn’t going to let that happen.

                “Stay with me, Coulson,” Steven muttered softly, “you’re not gonna die! You still gotta get Steve to sign those cards.” Steven felt the tears slip down his face as he pressed a hand to Phil’s bleeding chest. Steven let out a calming breath and pulled on his last dregs of his reserves. His body began to glow as he pressed a hand to Coulson’s head and let his energy flow into Phil’s battered body. He poured that energy into Phil’s chest and focused it on the worst of the damage. With a gentle spark, Coulson’s heart stutters back to life, a second later Steven takes a gasping breath and Phil Coulson copied him, filling his lungs with much needed oxygen. Steven pulled on his reserves until he had no more, and exhaustion stopped him. Steven collapsed back with a sigh, as Phil started to breathe again.

                “My god,” the medic gasped as Steven sluggishly pulled himself to his feet. Steven sent the man a scathing glare, warning him to do his job before he staggered out of the detention center to find something to eat.

                “Agent Coulson is down,” he heard Fury say as he rounded the corner.

                “Paramedics are on their way,” Steven heard over the coms before he pulled them out.

                “They’re here,” Fury said. Steven walked out of range, and didn’t hear the rest, “they called it.”

~*~

* * *

 

The first thing Steven did was find the mess hall, and devour every high carb and sugar food he could get his hands on. That last burst of energy had well and truly been his last. He shouldn’t have drawn on his fat reserves to give him the energy to heal Coulson, but Steven was selfish and had lost one too many friends to war. Coulson, though awkward and eager around Steve, was a good man and there just weren’t many good men left in the world, especially not in SHIELD. He didn’t deserve to die; not like that. So Steven did the selfish thing and depleted his fat reserves to create the energy to heal Coulson, because as powerful as that molten core of energy inside him called Grace was, he had no idea how to use it to heal someone like that. It was a risk to try to heal Coulson when his heart had just stopped, But Steven at this point didn’t care. All he cared about was getting enough calories into his system to rebuild those reserves and have the energy to fight. Once Steven had eaten until he felt like he would be sick, he did something he really didn’t like doing: he placed his hand on the bulkhead and fed off the electrical energy on the ship.

He didn’t do it often, but in an emergency like this, it was the quickest way to give him energy while his body prioritized fat building and restoring his overworked muscles and healing bruises. Once he felt strong enough to take on this army coming, Steven created his clone and marched off towards the bridge, with him in tow.

When he arrived, Tony and Steve were the only ones on the Avengers roster that were there. Natasha he assumed was with Barton in sick bay, and Thor and Banner had flown the coop. Only Yasha was sitting next to Steve, a comforting hand on his arm. Steven quietly sat down on Steve’s right and looked at the rest. Hill stood solemn and quiet behind Fury and Tony wasn’t even looking at the man. Steven looked at his clone who gave Tony a look of sympathy. Steven looked up and saw Fury holding something in his hands, before he looked up and addressed the shattered group.

                “These were in Phil Coulson’s jacket,” Fury said holding them up. “Guess he never did get you to sign them,” Fury said and tossed the bloodied cards onto the table in front of Steve. Steven saw his own card peeking out underneath Steve’s, pristine and white. Steven smiled sadly then narrowed his eyes. He looked up at Fury and then at the solemn faces of the others. A quick scan told him all he need to know: Fury lied.

                “We’re dead in the air up here,” Fury said as Steve reached across the table to pick up one of the cards. It was Steve in the classic tights and cotton. Steven smiled a little, and knew exactly where the input for Steve’s new uniform came from. “Our communications, location of the Cube, Banner, Thor; I got nothin’ for you.” Steve looked at the card, and Steven could feel his doubt, but also his resolve mounting. “Lost my one good eye,” Fury continued, “maybe I had that coming.” Fury was almost fragile as he shook his head sadly. Steve dropped the card and Steven was again drawn to the pristine Little Buck trading card. It was the only one that was mint. Phil probably got it new or from someone who had it new, and cared for it his whole life. It was perfect; not a drop of blood on it. Steven felt a wry and sad smirk pull on his face. It was as bloodless and clean as he once was, before HYDRA, before the Red Room.

                “Yes,” Fury finally admitted, “we were going to build an arsenal with the Tesseract,” Fury walked around the table leaning on the chair beside Steven. “I never put all my chips with that number though, because I was playing something even riskier.” Fury paused and looked at Tony, who wouldn’t even face the room. “There was an idea,” Fury said as he walked around the chairs, “Stark knows this, called the Avengers Initiative. The idea was to bring together a group of remarkable people, see if they could become something more. See if they could work together when we needed them to… to fight the battles that we never could.” Fury turned to Tony, and said, “Phil Coulson died still believing in that idea: in heroes.” Suddenly Tony stood up from his chair, and Steven could see the shaking in his hands, the guilt in his shoulders. After a moment he walked right out of the room, leaving the chair spinning in his absence. “Well,” Fury said calmly, “it’s an old fashioned notion.” Steven set his eyes on the man’s back with his own hidden fury.

                (“I’ll let that little lie slide for now, Fury,”) Steven told him telepathically, and Fury turned to look at Steven for the first time, (“but when this is all over you are going to tell the truth. Or I will.”) Steven’s eyes narrowed with promise, before he and Steve stood up. Yasha followed and cornered Steve outside the bridge in a shadowed hallway. He looked him in the eye and pulled Steve into a bruising hug. Steve gripped back just as tight, while Steven hung back. It was obvious Steve needed this, and Yasha was just tender enough and close enough to Steve emotionally to let him accept it. Steven’s clone followed for a moment before Steven ordered it to go to the carrier bay. When he turned Yasha and Steve were gone. Steven marched off towards the carrier bay and started looking for a jet to take them to wherever they needed to be. He found one that was being worked on, but wished that it was his QuinJet and not some SHIELD copy. Yasha found him eyeing it and as Steven turned to greet him, he saw the massive gun in his hands and the wild grin on his face. Steven smirked.

                “Let me guess,” Steven said, “you’ve found him.” Yasha’s grin was positively feral, and Steven shook his head in wry despair. “You’re hopeless.” Steven looked over Yasha’s shoulder and saw Steve marching towards the targeted QuinJet with single minded focus. Steven grinned, and wondered if this is what he looked like when he made up his mind to rescue his Ada. “Don’t look now, but I think we have company.” Yasha turned and saw Steve. Steven set off to intercept him and saw just who was with him. Steven’s grin turned wild, when he saw Natasha’s fire red hair, and Barton’s dusty gold.

Yasha caught up to them first and Steve saw him before he saw Steven. The smile he graced his son with, made Steven yearn for his Ada’s presence. When Steve looked over Yasha’s shoulder and saw Steven lurking, the smile fell into a stern commander’s look.

                “We do this as a team,” Steve ordered, and Steven graced him with a relieved smile.

                “I will do as you command, my Captain,” Steven said before Steve turned and walked into the QuinJet.

                “Hey,” the technician said, once they got on board, “you guys aren’t authorized to be here.” Steve was not going to have it, but was going to be polite about it.

                “Son,” he said, “just don’t.” and with that it was like Steven never left the war. He just wished he wasn’t walking into another one.

~*~

* * *

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End note: well that’s one of the longest sequences I have ever written. I didn’t mean for it to get so long, I just didn’t realize when I marked out my chapters just how long it would be.  
> Well, the battle… I’m not doing it! Sorry, I know I’m sorry, but I just cannot write that battle! It is so long and drawn out, that I couldn’t do it justice with Steven or just focusing on Steve. I can’t, so I won’t. I’ll skip over and go right to the aftermath. I might do some flashback sequences but that’s about it.  
> Next up: The Battle is Won, The War’s Just Begun  
> (Clever, ain’t I?)


	10. The Battle is Won, The War's Just Begun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: this is the aftermath of the battle and the shockwaves that occur. For one, Steve’s little secret isn’t going to be a secret very much longer.  
> If you all were gearing up for the battle I have this to say, I suck at doing battles and fight scenes. I think like an artist or in terms of cinematics I cannot write a battle that doesn’t sound like, “and then this happened and then he did this and this” I hate that! So no battle; just the aftermath, Oh and Shawarma! I hope you like that!  
> Anyway, I’ve delayed you enough  
> On to the fic

~*~*

* * *

There was debris everywhere; dust, and crumbled and broken stone and concrete, and glass and brick. Rebar and I-beams lay on top of the remains; where beautiful buildings once lay, now there was only a ruin; desolation. It was an all too chilling reminder of that terrifying day, sky clear and sun shining, when thousands of people’s lives changed forever. The dust was settling in the street and on cars, and if it weren’t for the fact that Steven was walking towards Nelyo, whose armor and sword was covered in purple blood, and Huan, whose once pristine white gold coat was splotched with the same blood and gore, caked with dust, especially around his muzzle, Steven would have thought he was walking in a living nightmare. Maedhros spotted him quickly and saw him walking in a daze.  Yasha seemed to materialize from nowhere to walk up to the pair of battered warriors. Huan barked and his tongue lolled out of his mouth as he sat down in front of Yasha to let the young man bury his face in his fur. Nelyo had no more than touched Steven’s arm before the younger man’s eyes lost their glazed appearance, and sharpened with relief. Suddenly Maedhros found himself holding Steven in his arms, his sword still clutched in hand, covered in gore, and resting on Steven’s back.

                “it’s over,” Maedhros said softly, as Steven clung even tighter, “thank Eru, you’re safe!” suddenly Maedhros sagged in Steven’s arms, his own exhaustion finally acknowledged once the haze of battle faded from his mind; leaving him dull and weary.  

                “We won,” Steven said faintly, all the joy and exhilaration of victory drained out of him from the sheer weight of grief and exhaustion in his bones. His words may have rung a little hollow, but they were no less true. They had won! Steven looked up from Maedhros’ shoulder and saw Huan’s tired form still panting as Yasha sat down to rest against the giant hound. There was a sense of pleased victory in the way the hound held himself, the way his tongue lolled out of his mouth and his lips seemed to pull up in a self-satisfied and wolfish grin. There was gore all over the hound’s face and neck, and Steven would bet his next paycheck that there would be videos surfacing on the internet of a giant wolf or hound throwing around Chitauri soldiers like ragdolls, or ripping them apart with a single bite. It was almost frightening how big he was; as big as a pony he would have to guess. And now that he looked at him, muzzle and chest covered with gore and blood, Steven could actually give credence to the story of his famous battle with Morgoth’s giant wolf, Carcharoth.

Steven looked over the hound’s shoulder and saw the forms of the Hithlum Rangers, their once clean leather and cloth armor of grey, browns and green, dirtied by the gore of battle and dust; they wandered through the rubble helping people out of battered cars, or out of the rubble of broken buildings. Steven knew when they had come to the battle field, it was most likely to give air support and protect their prince, but now that it was over, Steven knew they would stay to help clean up the mess. Arthadan was rumored to have entered the fray, leading his own guard into the thick of it to try and reach Steve. Híraklion had only reached the core of the battle just in time to see Tony’s suit streak up the side of his tower and through the portal. Now that the Chitauri were all dead, Steven felt nothing but numb looking at their corpses littering the ground.

Maedhros pulled back and gave Steven an encouraging smile.

                “Come on,” he said, “let’s go find the others.” Steven gave a weak smile in return but looked back towards the once gleaming new Stark Tower.

                “I think I heard Tony mention something about Shawarma,” Steven answered with a tired grin. Yasha’s head snapped up and he looked at his brother hopefully.

                “Food,” he asked with a pleading look in his eye. Steven grinned back, his smile brighter and more genuine.

                “Aye,” he said with a chuckle, “food.”

Maedhros wiped the gore off his sword with the edge of his cloak, and sheathed it. He looked over at the pair and smiled himself.

                “I could eat,” he said.

~*~

* * *

The little shop they find the Avengers congregated in is surprisingly still intact. There is glass all over the floor from the broken windows, and a few pieces of furniture were overturned but it was actually intact. Steve was resting in his chair, looking every bit as worn out and tired as he did after any one of the big battles during the war. There was dirt and grime on his uniform, and Steven even saw that there was a big gash in the left side of the suit. Even Thor looked a bit worn, but was happily munching on his food. Yasha saw the food on the table and quickly grabbed a chair and dragged it over.

                “Ah, food,” he moaned, “Real food, I’m starving!” with little grace or apology he grabbed one of the unclaimed baskets and started devouring the food on it. “Do you know what it’s like to subsist on SHIELD rations for almost two weeks,” he asked around the food in his mouth, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk. Natasha and Clint seemed to simultaneously shudder, and Steve looked up from his food and lifted his head tiredly off his fist.

                “Try and live on K rations for six months straight,” Steve mumbled back, his eyes glassy with exhaustion. They brightened a bit when he saw Yasha dig into his food, and a sad but contented smile pulled across his lips. Steven stepped through the broken door, his boots crunching on broken glass as he stepped, and made for the same table. Maedhros followed but Huan stayed by the door. Steve looked up just in time to see Maedhros duck under the threshold and step into the room. All semblance of exhaustion fled from his face when he saw Maedhros’ fiery copper locks, and his bloodied armor and cape. He slowly stood up and gaped at the tall elf. The others turned when they saw him stand and set eyes for the first time on Maedhros Fëanarion, former High King of the Noldor, and the dread Lord Prince of Himring Hill. “Maedhros,” Steve said softly, hesitantly, with hope shining in his eyes. A slow and joyful smile pulled across his lips, as Maedhros unclipped his sword from his belt and set it on the table, before gliding around the tables and chairs, and over broken glass without ever making a sound, to pull Steve into a fierce hug.

                “Don’t you ever pull that stunt again,” Maedhros wept into Steve’s hair, and Steve eagerly nodded into the taller one’s chest.

                “You’re an elf,” Thor said once Steve pulled away. “You’re very big for an elf.” Maedhros grinned at Thor’s comment before he threw back his head and laughed. The sound was rather deep for one of his kin, rolling out of his chest like low and distant thunder, but still with the clear ringing of bells. Once Maedhros’ laughs settled into rumbling chuckles, he looked at Thor with his ancient eyes and wide smile.

                “That is because I am Quendi,” Maedhros explained, “one of the Noldor. My grandfather was Finwë Noldóran, the first High King of the Noldor.” Thor’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and his eyes widened in shock. Steve grinned happily between the two of them, before he introduced him.

                “Thor, this is Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol Fëanarion, Maedhros the Tall,” Steve said with a hand towards the elf, “Third High King of the Noldor, the son of Curufinwë Fëanáro, son of Finwë, the first High King; The Lord Prince of Himring Hill, protector of the eastern marches Beleriand, and Lord of the House of Fëanor.” Thor’s jaw dropped with every title that ensued from Steve’s mouth, before he finally bowed lowly with respect.

                “You’re from Arda then,” Thor said, and Maedhros smiled, pleasantly surprised that Thor knew of his home world. He regally inclined his head in response, before pulling his head up high. “I’ve only heard about the people of your world. Father says it is forbidden to go there. That it is protected by powerful spirits, celestial beings called the…uh.”

                “The Ainur,” Maedhros finished for him, “the most powerful being the Valar, the Powers of the World.”

                “Yes,” Thor said with a reverent smile. He bowed again, “it is truly an honor. The tales of your people’s heroism and courage reached even the halls of Asgard. Some of your greatest tales are even sung in there halls.” Steven smirked and waved a hand to clear away the glass on the floor. Once it was cleared Huan happily trotted into the room, his nails clicking on the floor as he walked up to stand beside Maedhros. Thor startled when he looked up and saw himself face to face with the most massive hound he had ever seen. “Is this…” he asked and before he could ask, Steve interrupted him.

                “Huan,” Steve cried with a wide grin on his face. Steve quickly threw his arms around the neck of the massive beast and hugged the hound. Huan’s tongue lolled out of his mouth as he whimpered happily, his tail wagging.

                “ _That_ is a _big_ _dog_ ,” Clint said with wide eyes.

                “The Hound of the Valinor,” Thor said reverently, and bowed again. Huan bobbed his head before he sat down and laid himself down beside Steven and Yasha’s table; resting his massive head on his equally massive paws. “Loki would have been so happy to meet you,” Thor said sadly, before he registered Steven’s presence. “Ah, Knight of Winter, come to feast with us?” Tony shook his head at Thor’s form of speech and went back to his post battle binge.

                “Actually, yes,” Steven said, accent firmly in place, “I’m starving.” Tony looked over his shoulder at the woman still sweeping glass and waved a finger at Steven, Yasha, and Maedhros.

                “They’re with us,” he said, “give ‘em the same order.”

                “Make that a double,” Steven said with a polite grin, “please.”

                “And some scraps for Fido here,” Tony added. Huan lifted his head and glared at the Billionaire, his lips curling into a snarl. Tony flinched and pointed at the large hound. “Shouldn’t he be on a leash?” Yasha and Maedhros let out an ungraceful snort.

                “Do you want to try and put one on him,” Maedhros asked with a cocky smirk. Tony looked back at the giant hound then the exceptionally tall elf before he rolled his eyes and nodded his head.

                “I can see your point,” Tony said and went back to his food. Thor pats Huan on the head and went back to his own feast. Steve sat down and dug back into his food a little less sullenly than before. A few minutes later a server brought the three additions their order and after a little pause to thank God they were all still alive, they dug in.

Steven dug into the carb rich food with a vengeance, quickly devouring his first sandwich and moving onto the wraps. He guzzled down his drink before taking his second and sipping at it, before we went back to the meat and carbs. He was quickly making a dent in his order when he felt eyes on him. He looked up and found that all of the Avengers including Natasha were looking at him with unrestrained shock. Steven looked over at Yasha and then Maedhros, slowly chewing on his large mouthful of food.

                “What,” he asked as he rolled the food to one cheek. Their silence was a little unnerving and had made him very self-conscious and uncomfortable.

                “You have quite an appetite,” Clint finally said, and Steven finished swallowing the mouthful before giving him a winning smile.

                “You might even give my good friend Volstagg a challenge for fastest eater,” Thor said with a cheerful grin. Steve on the other hand looked almost aghast at the amount Steven had eaten so quickly.

                “Where do you put it all,” Steve asked. Steven took a large mouthful of his drink, rinsing out his mouth and swallowing the last of it down before he answered.

                “My abilities have some drawbacks,” Steven explained, “my electrical powers require a lot of energy stored in my cells, and if I don’t have the energy stored like normal, I burn through calories. I have a metabolism that runs about four times faster than an Olympic athlete, in normal circumstances. In a full on battle, I need a lot of energy.” Steven looked down at his slightly looser clothes, and ran a quick estimate. “In this case, I just burned through all of my fat reserves. I should be fine if I get the calories in me, but I might need a slight boost later. Right now, I just really need to eat.” Steven turned away and tucked back into his food.

His body was working overtime to deal with bruises and cuts, not to mention light burns from being clipped by weapon fire. He wasn’t kidding when he said he burned through all his fat reserves, but he had burned through all his stored energy before that even. He was quite literally burnt out. He didn’t have a drop of spare energy left in his cells, and he really didn’t like it. Putting on a little fat would help, but he needed time to siphon off energy and build it back up in his cells like normal. He hadn’t felt this burnt out since his little crusade in Eastern Europe, and the former Soviet bloc. The fastest way to get it back he found out was by getting blasted by a HYDRA weapon. It left him jittery and charged but overall it didn’t harm him. After all he was designed to contain a lot more energy than even the Tesseract could give him, and his powers made him very hard to kill.

He looked up at the others and found Yasha eating calmly but slowly, and Maedhros had managed to finish his second wrap without anyone noticing. Elves may not need a lot of food over long periods but every now and then, they needed a big fuel up to last those long periods. In a way they were more like him, and that was comforting.

He looked back at his meal and slowly made his way through it. He missed Steve’s look of horror and sympathy, sent his way; not knowing that Steve just felt more than contempt for this ex-assassin he had become.

~*~*

* * *

The minute that Steve is able to relax is when he realized that something was wrong. He didn’t know what it was. It was nothing concrete, just a feeling that persisted through the newly minted Avengers meal, and moving towards helping with the cleanup. Steve was always of the opinion, even when young, that if you made a mess, you clean it up. And the Avengers just made a huge mess of midtown Manhattan. Steve had stripped out of the top half of his uniform and began helping remove rubble and debris from the roads. Thor was helping with the big stuff, picking up large chunks of rubble and buildings, while Tony started getting the funds together to give humanitarian aid to the newly displaced or even homeless people. Simply put it was a mess, and Steve was trying to do his level best to help fix it.

Even though it felt like when he and the team would liberate towns during the war, helping with the cleanup, giving out food, clean water, even clothes, this held a note that made it different. This wasn’t some war torn city or town in Europe during the War, this was his home. This was New York. His city, his home town, and that realization made him more than a little sick to his stomach. It felt the same though. Every person he passed as he was pulling rubble out of the street and into trucks thanked him, just like in the war. Old men that were probably younger than him were calling him their childhood hero, and saying that they knew he would win. It felt strange, but good. Tony was getting the same thank you’ s and hugs while Bruce was relatively unnoticed as he helped in the first aid stations set up at multiple points throughout the devastated parts of the city.

At first he thought it was nothing, just a light dizzy spell when he stood up from moving another hunk of rock. He shook his head to clear the fog, and took a step towards the aid station, figuring he was just dehydrated or had low blood sugar. Suddenly it felt as if all his blood had rushed out of his head, and not only did he suddenly feel dizzy, his vision started to go gray around the edges. He had felt these sorts of symptoms before when he was about to faint from one illness or another, so he took several stumbling steps towards a large piece of rubble to lean on it for support. If someone saw him now they would have thought him concussed or drunk, he was stumbling so hard. When he finally had the stone work to lean upon, Steve felt like he had just run a thousand miles at top speed. His limbs were shaking, his head felt like it was filled with cotton, and he ached all over; especially in his back and around his abdomen. He was so disjointed he didn’t even hear Tony walk up.

                “Hey, Capsicle,” Tony said, his voice seemingly coming from very far away. “I just got the final funding so we can get all this Chitauri stuff properly…” Tony looked away from his phone and suddenly saw Steve’s face. He was pale and also flushed at the same time, his eyes were unfocused and slightly dilated and he was trembling faintly all over. “Cap, are you alright?” he asked reaching out to touch his shoulder. Steve flinched slightly and looked up at Tony, his vision still blurry and gray. He blinked hard and shook his head to get rid of the fuzz, and that seemed to help.

                “Tony,” Steve asked his voice faint and a little sluggish. Tony put his phone away and looked Steve in the eyes. They looked responsive but sluggish as if drugged, and they were still dilated slightly. Tony took Steve’s shoulders in hand and slowly ran his hands up the man’s neck and felt around his skull. “whadda ya doin’,” Steve asked his Brooklyn drawl coming out slow and slurred.

                “What happen, Cap,” Tony asked, “did ya get cracked on the head?” Steve shook his head slowly, his blinking slow and lazy, almost tired. “You’re lookin’ a bit pale.” Steve looked up lazily at Tony before suddenly it feels as if a knife has just been jabbed into his gut. Tony has just enough time to see Steve’s face go positively ashen as he sucked in a sharp pain-filled gasp through his teeth, before he collapsed, sliding to the ground, his breathing shallow and fast as his eyes rapidly dilated with pain. “ _CAP_ ,” Tony called out, as Steve’s legs buckled, quickly grabbing the bigger man around the shoulders to ease him to the ground. “Cap, talk to me. What’s wrong?” Tony asked searching Steve’s deathly pale face, even the flush was gone; his lips bone white. His gaze was vacant and distant, unfocused; A thousand yard stare, and it frightened Tony. Tony looked up and around before calling out, “ _HELP_! _It’s Cap, he’s hurt!_ ”

Bruce who was at the aid station with Nat and Clint, suddenly looked up at Tony’s cry. The others do the same just as Bruce’s instincts kicked in, and he rushed to Steve’s aid. As he rounded the large piece of rubble he saw Tony kneeling in front of Steve, who was still in half his uniform, his legs askew, leaning against the stone. Bruce quickly took in his symptoms as he knelt beside him. His breathing was shallow and fast, his pallor was chalky and almost wax-like. His lips were pale and his forehead was covered in a fine layer of sweat. His eyes were wide and glassy, the pupils dilated, and if it weren’t for the fact that Steve was breathing, Bruce would say he almost looked dead. He could see that there was a great deal of pain in his wide eyes, and he could see tears running down the Captain’s face. But it is when he looked down and saw what was staining the Captain’s pants and the ground beneath him, that Bruce felt his own face pale: Blood, and a lot of it.

                “Natasha, call for a chopper and a medic,” Bruce shouted over at the red-head. Bruce turned back to Steve with worried eyes.

                “What’s happening,” Tony asked frantically, “is he hurt?” Bruce ignored him in preference of talking to Steve while he was still conscious.

                “Steve, what happened? Are you hurt? Where’d they get you,” Bruce asked, as he took in Steve’s appearance, and assessed his condition. He placed his hand on Steve’s forehead, and found it cold and clammy. Steve suddenly seemed to focus and register his presence, turning his glassy and pain filled teary eyes on the doctor, a horrible realization filling them as he did so.

                “Baby,” Steve whispered, his voice faint and weak, “the baby!” suddenly it seemed as if those words had sapped all his remaining strength. His glassy eyes rolled back into his head, as he went completely boneless and passed out. Bruce is confused by the words and starts to look for any injury that could be the cause of all that blood. The wound on his left side is shallow and cauterized, probably from a Chitauri weapon, and was free of blood. Most of the blood seemed to be situated at the crux of his thighs, staining the crotch of the bright blue pants dark with bright red blood. It is with a horrible and sinking realization, that Bruce realized what Steve was trying to tell him as the medics arrive and begin to pull him onto a stretcher. Bruce grabbed the shirt of the medic to get his attention.

                “You need to get a Numenorean physician from the Hithlum Ranger to treat him,” Bruce told him, “and a midwife.” The medic pales and nodded quickly sending his partner off to do just that as he and another medic wheel Steve’s stretcher towards a QuinJet for transport back to the Helicarrier.

                “Bruce, what’s going on,” Tony asked as he and the others scrambled to follow the stretcher towards the QuinJet. “What’s wrong with Steve?” Thor saw the team scrambling towards the jet with Steve on the stretcher, and rushed to follow.

                “What happened to the Captain,” Thor asked. Bruce took a seat near the stretcher and saw the medics cut him out of the suit. Thor saw the bright red blood staining Steve’s thighs, and turned just as ashen. “By the Fates, what happened?” Thor and the others turned to Bruce. The doctor took in all of the Avengers looks of concern and fear, before he finally found the words to answer.

                “I think Steve is having a miscarriage,” he said sadly and softly. His response is met with silent shock. You could have heard a pin drop as they all tried to come to terms with this information. Tony and Natasha looked sick. Clint had a look of quiet horror, and Thor, he had a face etched in immense sorrow and grief. Bruce barely heard a thing, as he looked back at Steve’s ashen face; absently noting the Medics call in the emergency.

                “Captain Rogers is bleeding heavily from the nether region,” the medic explained, “suspect a spontaneous abortion.”  A moment later a different medic rushed onto the jet, this one dressed in the garb associated with the Numenorean healers and Physicians: a cool gray tunic over a pale gray blue shirt, the normally billowing bells wrapped tight with a pair of leather vambraces and his hands covered in that faint blue glow of Hithlum’s advanced shield technology, this time acting as a second skin or sterile gloves. His trousers were a mat black of dyed doe skin, and his boots were tall black and silver things with soft soles. This whole ensemble was covered in a white apron to protect the cloth. His hair is long, and as black as night, pulled back in the Numenorean style with braids and metal clasps. The tips of his ears a slightly pointed, but, while nowhere near as obvious as Stevan’s were, it was plan to see that he was Numenorean. The man took one look at Steve and went as pale as milk. He looked at the assembled Avengers with fear in his silver gray eyes.

                “Has anyone told the King,” he asked. His answer was looks of confusion from most, and head shakes from the rest, mainly Clint, Nat and Bruce.

                “What king,” Tony asked as the jet ramp closed and they took off.

                “King Arthadan,” the healer said, “Captain Rogers is his heir.” This announcement was met with only silence before Tony broke it aptly.

                “Oh, Shit!”

~*~*

* * *

                “Steven,” Jonathan called his brother on a restricted frequency, his voice no more than a harsh whisper. “Steven!” Steven tapped his earpiece with a sigh.

                “Yeah, Jonny,” he answered. Yasha looked up from his gun cleaning with surprise. Steven sent his brother a reassuring smile, and returned to the call. “What is it?”

                “I think you guys better get back up here, ASAP,” Jonathan said nervously. Steven picked up on the tone and nervousness, and sent his brother a worried look.

                “Why,” he asked, “what’s wrong?”

                “It’s Steve,” Jonathan answered, “something happened. He’s on his way back to the carrier for emergency medical attention.” Steven paled and shot Yasha a near frantic look.

                “What. Happened,” Steven asked harshly. Jonathan swallowed back some of this fear and answered, and it couldn’t have been any worse.

                “The medics are saying he’s bleeding profusely,” he said. “They think he’s having a miscarriage.” Steven went milk pale, and looked at his little brother with sudden pity and sorrow.

                “Oh, God,” he exclaimed softly.

                “Steven,” Yasha asked, with wide and panicked eye, “what is it? What’s going on?”

                “Stevie,” Jonathan said, “you better get up here. Bring Maedhros if you can, just get up here.” Steven felt his eyes water as he ended the call.

                “Copy,” Steven said and swallowed hard, dropping his hand from his earpiece. “We need to find a QuinJet.” Steven stormed off towards the aid station, knowing that there would be on near there.

                “What happened,” Yasha asked, running to catch up. He grabbed Steven’s shoulder and whirled him around to look him in the eye, “What. Happened?” Steven swallowed around his dry mouth.

                “Steve’s headed back to the Carrier,” Steven answered, “they think he’s having a miscarriage.” Yasha suddenly went pale and his knees threatened to buckle out from under him. He clutched Steven’s coat for support, and felt his eyes widen in fear, and water with grief.

                “Is he,” Yasha asked hesitantly, “is he…”

                “No, he’s fine, but we need to get up there,” Steven said and turned back to the station. Sure enough there was a QuinJet sitting beside the tent, and Steven found some very welcome and familiar faces around it. Maedhros and Huan were standing near the jet talking with none other than Arthadan himself. The Numenorean King was still dressed in his war attire, but had stripped off some of the outer layers, such as the armor, leaving him with a very simple yet regal appearance; with nothing more than a small circlet to denote his rank. When the two approached Arthadan saw them out of the corner of his eye and turned to look at them with a wide and happy smile; a smile which fell to nothing when he saw their haggard and frightened faces.

                “What happened,” Arthadan asked, once he was close enough to talk without shouting. Steven breezed on by, bee lining it for the ramp of the jet. Arthadan watched him pass then turned back to look at Yasha.

                “Steve was taken back to the Helicarrier for medical attention,” Yasha answered, his eyes wide and full of tears, “they think he’s having a miscarriage.” Arthadan felt the blood drain from his face when he paled, turning to look at Maedhros’ equally stunned and horrified face.

                “We’re coming with you,” Arthadan announced as Yasha moved towards the ramp. Maedhros nodded and followed, Huan hot on his heels. They had barely stepped on the ramp when the engines whirred to life, and all of the systems came on. The trio quickly rushed up the ramp, Huan squeezing in as Steven took the controls in hand and the QuinJet lifted off the ground. There was a commotion below as the pilot realized that his jet had just been commandeered, and Arthadan heard little more than a startled shout as Steven gracefully and expertly lifted the jet and raised the ramp. Arthadan looked over at the others and saw varying faces of worry and grief, but on Steven’s all he saw was cold determination. Arthadan knew without a doubt that they would get on board and nothing would happen to Steve if he could help it.

~*~*~

* * *

The minute Steve and the others touched down on the Helicarrier, the medics were in motion. They quickly were met by doctors and other medical personnel as they rushed out of the jet, down the ramp and into the hangar bay.

                “What’s his pulse at,” the doctor asked, “has anyone attached a fetal heart monitor?” the response he received was less than encouraging.

                “Heart rate has dropped to under fifty beats a minute;” the Numenorean healer responded, “blood pressure is inconsistent. Pulse is weak and thready. His breathing is rapid and shallow. Pupils are heavily dilated, and unfocused, complexion is pale and waxy. He’s not responding to aural stimuli, and his first responder indicated that he seemed to be in pain before he passed out.” Tony and the others stumbled out behind the army of doctors that swarmed their Captain. The genius inventor couldn’t take his eyes off the bright red stain coating Steve’s inner thighs, but didn’t miss the fact that the doctors had finally attached monitors to the Captain. Just as the healer had said, Steve’s heart rate was weak, and his blood pressure kept spiking at odd times. The other monitors were strapped around Steve’s lower abdomen, which had a slightly more significant mound than he had realized. Tony felt sick. He threatened to hit this guy, called him insignificant, and a lab rat, all the while not knowing he was carrying a baby; a baby that might not be alive anymore.

                “We got fetal life signs,” the doctor said, “two fetuses, both in distress.” The doctors quickly wheeled Steve into an elevator and the team blindly followed. The doctor quickly grabbed a portable ultrasound machine and squeezed some jelly onto the transducer. A second later it was pressed onto Steve’s belly just below the navel. The typical whooshing sound followed and Tony and the doctors were all riveted to the screen. Tony saw the blurry image slowly come into focus and saw two little forms curled up on the screen. He heard a stifled gasp behind him and saw Clint’s sad and pale face; eyes glued to the screen. Tony grabbed he archer’s hand and gave it a squeeze, before letting go. He turned back just in time to see the doctors mark the screen, circling one baby in particular.

                “He’s gonna be okay, right,” Tony asked, and the healer looked over his shoulder at him. The sad look in his eyes told him all he needed to know. A second later the monitor went haywire and all hell broke loose.

                “We’ve lost vitals on fetus ‘a’,” the Healer announced, just as the doors opened and they rushed Steve out of the elevator and down to the infirmary. The Avengers quickly followed, and rushed down the hall towards the large infirmary doors. The doors opened and the stretcher entered to a flurry of motion. The group moved to enter but where quickly stopped. One of the doctors turned around and pressed a gloved hand onto Tony’s chest.

                “You can’t be in here,” she said and her tone brooked no arguments. She nodded towards the doors behind them. “Wait outside.”

                “But,” Tony started, only to be shot down.

                “Out,” she barked, and gave Tony a light shove out the door. The doors closed in his face, leaving the team standing there looking through the glass doors as they stripped Steve out of his bloody undergarments. Tony looked back at the group and saw all the looks of shock and grief in their eyes. Tony turned around and moved to stand in front of the large glass picture window to the right of the doors. The team followed him like a group of baby ducklings to watch the doctors hoist Steve off the stretcher and onto the medical bed. The healer quickly draped a sheet over Steve’s lap, but that didn’t erase the sight Tony and the others caught of the bloody gore leaking out from between Steve’s legs. A second later Steve’s legs were up in a set of obstetric stirrups and his legs were splayed wide.

The healer took position between Steve’s thighs all the while glancing back and forth between the monitors and the ultrasound image. Tony saw it the moment the Healer knew; his shoulders drooped and his face became a picture of sorrow. Tony looked at the monitors and saw why.

                “Steve just lost a baby,” Tony said. There was a solemn silence that followed before the healer looked towards the windows and pointed at them. A second later the nurse pressed a button by the window and the glass went opaque. Fully aware that they were not wanted to be loitering in the halls, Tony turned towards the others. “There should be a waiting room just down the hall,” he said. He couldn’t even look them in the eye, as he turned and walked a few doors down and into the waiting room. He sat down in the chair closest to the door, and buried his face in his hands for a second. After gaining his composure, he whipped his hands down his face and settled his hands folded between his knees.

He looked up when he heard the heavy footsteps of their resident thunderer, and saw Thor and the others make their way inside. Natasha and Clint took the love seats on the wall to his right, in perfect sightline of the door, while Bruce took the chair opposite of them. Thor settled into the large arm chair opposite of Tony and sat his hammer down beside him. Between the group of heroes was a glass and steel coffee table, littered with freshly stacked magazines of varying topics. Tony picked up a copy of popular science and opened the pages.

There was no use idly fretting. But that didn’t mean that Tony’s leg wasn’t jittering up and down while he read. Or that he wasn’t really reading because of the sinking feeling in his chest that they might just lose their Captain today.

~*~*

* * *

Once the window was frosted the healer turned to one of his fellow comrades with orders.

                “I need you to put me through to the King,” he said. “Arthadan needs to know.”

                “Why,” the doctor asked, his brows furrowed in confusion. The healer rolled his eyes at the man’s lack of knowledge.

                “Because Captain Rogers,” he said, “is the Crowned Prince of Hithlum. Arthadan is his only next of kin. If you had bothered to check his records, you would know that,” he berated the man. He sent the man a look of disgust before turning to a nurse. “Please try to contact the King,” he asked more politely, “he’s the only one who can give consent on behalf of the prince.” The nurse nodded and rushed over to one of the communication screens to try and get a call through. Just as she opened the call function, though, the screen changed to a video call. On it was the masked assassin and King Arthadan. “Your Grace,” the healer said startled. Arthadan looked haggard, and worried; his face lined with deep lines of worry and concern.

                “Barandir,” he said with a sigh of relief, the lines of worry melting off his face to make him look much younger. “How is he?” the King asked. Barandir felt his own face morph into one of grief, his own eyes showing the age that his face did not, and his shoulders sagging under the burden of his news.

                “We lost one, your grace,” he said, and Arthadan’s face morphed into a picture of grief. His eyes widened, and his brows raised in shock, his mouth slightly open, before his face crumpled under the weight of grief; his eyes closing and lips pulled tight, as his head bowed. When he raised his head his shoulders were sagged low with sorrow, and his eyes radiated pain.

                “And the other,” Arthadan asked, his voice hoarse and quiet. Barandir slowly closed his eyes and took a fortifying breath, so that when he opened them there was a confidence in them that he didn’t exactly feel, but needed to show.

                “If we act now, your grace,” he said, “there still might be a chance to save the other one.” Arthadan looked haggard and old under the burden of this decision.

                “And how is Steve,” he asked. Barandir let out a calming breath before he answered.

                “I won’t lie, my King,” he said his brows pinched in concern, “he’s lost a lot of blood. But he has a better chance of surviving than the child does, if we don’t act quickly.” Arthadan looked away and chewed on his lips for a moment before his jaw tightened and his lips thinned as a look of resolve came over the Man. He looked up with firm determination in his eye before he spoke.

                “Do it,” he ordered, resolve in his eyes as well as desperate hope. “Do whatever you have to, but try to save the child. If Steve’s life is at risk, put him first, but try; try to save the babe.” Barandir bowed his head sagely, and placed his hand over his heart.

                “You have my word,” he said, “I will to my utmost to save them both.” Arthadan sent the healer a fragile smile.

                “Thank you,” he said, “I will there soon. We’ll talk then.” and with that he ended the video call.

The healer looked to his colleagues with iron determination in his gray eyes.

                “What are you waiting for?” he barked, “let’s get to work.”

~*~*

* * *

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endnote: okay that took longer than I thought. This was actually harder to crank out than the other chapters. Maybe it’s because I had a more concrete outline to fall back on. Okay I will try to get the next few chapters out faster but no promises.  
> Next up: becoming a father.


	11. Becoming a Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby alert!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: this is going to be a hard chapter to write, because it comes right after an equally hard chapter to write. I’ll try to make sure I don’t wreck this. For some reason I think my vision of this changed over the course of writing the other ones and is a little different than how I outlined it. Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to get those two views to mesh and hopefully work out.  
> This is baby time. Sorry please don’t hurt me for taking that little trope, for sacrificing one of the babies, but I had to do something for a little drama.   
> On to the Fic

~*~*

* * *

Tony had finally given up on trying to read the magazine. He huffed out in frustration and tossed it back on the table. He ran a hand over his haggard face, trying to regain some composure over the raging storm of emotion going on in his head. Finally he couldn’t take any more of the waiting and stood up. The others all looked up and gave him matching looks of concern.

                “I can’t take this anymore,” Tony said.

                “Stark, we’ll know when we know,” Natasha said calmly, her eyes tracking him as he began to pace behind his chair.

                “Yeah, right,” Tony scoffed with a brittle and sarcastic smile. He ran a frazzled hand through his hair, his eyes wide and wild before he stopped behind the chair. “If he was alright we would have known something by now. I mean, it would be just like SHIELD to cut us out of the know, just because they can. How do we even _know_ that they’re even trying to save him, hmm,” Tony asked, his hands flying in rapid gestures. He pointed to the wall with wide and teary eyes, and said, “He could be bleeding out in there, for all we know, and they wouldn’t tell us.” Thor snarled and stood.

                “They wouldn’t dare,” he thundered. “He just saved their lives. _We_ saved them; the least we deserve is to be informed of our Captain’s condition.” Clint’s lips pulled into a bitter smile.

                “It wouldn’t be the first time SHIELD cut their losses,” he said bitterly.

                “Clint,” Natasha chided him, but Clint grimaced and pulled away, standing up to put some distance between them.

                “No,” he said, “you know what, Nat, I know you put your trust in them, but you didn’t see Yasha’s face when he found out Steve was alive.” he told her, a look of anger and disgust on his face, “you weren’t there when they told him that he couldn’t see the only blood relation he had left in the world. It crusted him,” Clint said. “If Yasha didn’t have Steve’s stubbornness and temper, he might never have met him. Nat, you didn’t see the look on his face when he talked to me after meeting him. SHIELD would do anything to keep their best black ops agent from getting compromised.” He scoffed and gestured to the wall, “Hell, I bet if Jonathan hadn’t found out, they never would have told him.” he pointed at the wall again with complete seriousness. “Steve and that baby in there are the only real family that kid’s got, and you know how much family means to him,” he said. Natasha sat calmly for a moment before she nodded in agreement.

                “Steve’s physician is a Numenorean Healer,” Bruce finally spoke, playing with his glasses before he looked up. “I’ve worked with them before. They know more about healing and helping their own people than we ever could. Steve’s in the best of hands. I have no doubt that they would do everything in their power to save Steve. He’s their prince. They would want him alive.” Tony and the others nodded before turning to the door to see the doctor, the Healer, and Fury all standing in the doorway. Natasha and Bruce stood, waiting for the news.

The doctor swallowed and cleared his throat before moving to stand by the wall near Bruce. The Healer took his spot by Tony behind his former chair, while Fury stood between the two, hands on hips, head hung low.

                “Doctor,” Fury said, “would you care to inform us of the Captain’s condition?” the doctor looked slightly distressed, but cleared his throat and spoke.

                “I am not an expert on Numenorean physiology,” he began and turned to the healer at his side, “so if I may, I think I will differ to my colleague on this matter.” The healer nodded graciously and bowed his head.

                “Hannon le,” he said, and turned to the group (Thank you). “It appears that your initial assessment of Captain Rogers’ condition was correct, Dr. Banner,” he told the graying scientist. “Steve… the Captain, was carrying twins.” He paused genuinely saddened before he looked up with mournful gray eyes. “It appears that Steve suffered some sort of abdominal trauma, a blow or perhaps a fall, that caused some significant damage. As a result, his body rejected the less viable fetus, and was more than likely going to reject the other if we hadn’t caught it in time.” The group all shared a nervous look before Tony addressed the Healer.

                “What about Steve,” he asked, “is he gonna be okay?” the healer took a deep fortifying breath, before answering.

                “That will be up to him,” he said, and when he saw all the confused looks on their faces he clarified. “Captain Rogers… Steve is… well to be completely frank, he’s considered to be half-elven. His genes contain at the very least 75% Elven alleles. Both his parents were the same. As a result, he’s more elvish than Numenorean.” He paused gathering his thoughts before he continued, “I’ve spent my career studying the physiology and anatomy of the Eldar. They’re more of a spiritual race than a physical. One of my teachers explained it this way: the Edain, Men, are frail in body, but strong of mind and spirit. Elves, the Eldar, on the other hand, are the complete opposite: they are frail of spirit, but not of will, or body. They’re physically stronger than us, more durable. They can withstand things that could kill us, but things that we can shrug off, like an emotional trauma, such as losing a babe, they can’t. It damages them, so much so that they… quite literally die of grief. They call it fading.”  Tony’s face had become waxen and his eyes wide and red with the effort to hold back his tears.

                “So,” Tony asked hesitantly, “will he… fade?” the healer licked his lips and answered.

                “As I said, that’s up to him,” he replied. “If he has a strong bond or emotional tie to keep him with us, he might pull through.” He licked his lips again and addressed the group, “but that all depends on how strong the tie is. Love is a very strong emotion, and we’re doing everything in our power to strengthen that bond by trying to save other child. Captain Rogers also has…” he started but stopped when he heard a commotion outside in the hall.

                “I don’t care who you think you are,” a voice shouted, quite angrily, then bellowed, “ ** _Get out of my way!_** ” Tony and the others shared a look of distress, before ducking into the wide hallway to see a group of SHIELD security guards trying to block the path of a tall blond haired man in full Numenorean regalia.

                “What the hell is going on here,” Fury shouted, and the officers turned to answer him only for the man’s partner, a very, very tall redhead to pull one of the men aside and pin him with a single hand to the wall.

Even though they had met, that didn’t mean Tony was paying any attention to him, but now, hyped up on fear and worry for Steve, he had the time to get a good look at this Maedhros guy that had held so much of Steve’s respect. The guy was built like a Greek God, with the height an NBA star could only dream of having. He had to be over seven foot! He was also dressed like he had walked out of a fantasy movie set in full battle gear. His armor was well fitted plates of overlapping strips of metal shaped like large leaves across the breast plate then thinner ones down the sides. His shoulder guards, or pauldrons, were overlapping leaves expertly molded around his shoulders. The connecting gorget was covered by the cloth of the man’s bright red cloak, the straps overlapping to cross at the front and was clasped under the arms. The cape was pinned at one side on the left to give that arm free movement, but there were swords attached to both sides of his belt. He wore a very long robe under the armor that opened at the waist, and fell to just below his shins, but well above the ankle. Under this could be seen the distinctive sheen of ring chainmail that also opened at just above the crotch, underneath which were a pair of padded dark trousers made of some sort of doe skin.  He had on a pair of dark leather, soft sole boots protected by more armor in the form of greaves. The similarly designed leg armor was matched by the vambraces on his arms covering half gloves to protect his palms. This whole look was majestic and fantastical and to be frank, he looked like an extra from Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings, only this guy didn’t just look like an extra; he was the real deal: an elf.

His bright red hair caught the light and shimmered in a multitude of reds, browns and bright golden copper. The overall affect made his hair almost look like flames from a distance, and unlike most true redheads, his hair was smooth and shiny; well mostly shiny. Because his hair looked disheveled and windblown, even with the majestic braids holding it all in place. He was covered in grime and gore, and had sheen on his face of perspiration but he looked calm and not in the slightest tired like Tony felt, or anyone else for that matter. Tony heard a sharp intake of breath and turned to see Thor’s eyes widen in reverence.

                “Maedhros Fëanarion,” Thor said with a gleam of hero worship in his eyes. Tony rolled his eyes and finally saw the man that had muscled his way past the officers only to be blocked by Fury. The glare that he sent the bald pirate was positively glacial in its cold fury. Tony smirked. This guy could give lessons to even the director. The smirk fell when the face finally registered in Tony’s brain. It was like looking at an older more wizened version of Cap. He had at least twenty years on Steve in age, maybe even thirty, but, not only that, his hair was long and pulled back at the sides into a single braid at the back, leaving most of the hair free to fall to his shoulders. He had lines of age around his eyes and forehead and even faint smile lines around his mouth, but overall he still held onto the beauty of youth while giving off an aged look of wisdom. He looked slightly slimmer than Steve, but it was so small a difference that most wouldn’t see it. He was clean shaven, and but Tony could see that telltale gray of a five o’ clock shadow coming in, and just like his tall friend he had the signs that he had been part of the fight. “Arthadan,” Tony heard Thor breathe, in awed reverence.

                “You’re King Arthadan,” Tony said and found himself the focus of those same intense eyes that Fury had been. They were just like Steve’s, but unlike Steve, they held the weight of near countless years of life. This man was old! The sheer weight of his gaze was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Tony could maybe give credence to the idea that Numenoreans could live to be hundreds of years old, if they had the same ancient eyes as this man.

                “I am,” he said, and just like that the spell was broken. The man may look like Steve, but his accent and the timber of his voice was different. Steve’s voice had the slightly nasally quality typical of any New Yorker, especially one from Brooklyn. Even if it had been trained out of him by his time on the stage, it would crop up every now and then when he got frustrated or anxious, or tired; like right before he had passed out. Arthadan’s voice was slightly deeper, throatier than nasal, and his accent was Numenorean all the way; almost proper English in its intonation, but with a slight lyrical lit. It sounded like he spent more time speaking a foreign language than English, and given what he knew about Arthadan’s background, that was probably true.

                “Your grace, I’m glad to see you made it,” the healer said with a relieved tone.

                “No thanks to them,” Arthadan said, looking over to send another arctic glare at the officers and security guards that had tried to stop him. Wow, this guy’s glare was even more intense than Steve’s Cap glare. The look softened when he turned his gaze back to the healer. “How is he, Barandir?” concern was laced through Arthadan’s voice and his brow quirked up almost just like Steve’s. Honestly, their mannerisms were so alike it was almost scary. And judging by the looks on the rest of the teams faces he wasn’t the only one thinking it.

                “We lost one of the babes, your grace,” Barandir, the healer, explained, “but we did manage to stabilize the second one. I am… hopeful, cautiously, that as long as we continue his treatment that the baby will survive the birth.” He paused and continued, “it is still in distress but, not dangerously so.”

                “Excuse me,” Fury asked, “what treatment. We didn’t authorize any treatment.” Arthadan shot Fury a scathing glare and answered before the healer could.

                “No, you didn’t,” he said accusingly, “I did.” Fury got an indignant look on his face, and sent the man, no, King, a glare of his own.

                “Since when do you have the authority…?” Fury started.

                “Since I am Captain Rogers’s legal next of kin,” Arthadan interrupted, “and since I am the head of our House, I have legal power of attorney over his medical treatment. He signed the documents before the coronation.” Tony’s eyebrows shot to his hairline.

                “Coronation,” he asked, “what coronation?” Arthadan looked at Tony and sent him a dry look, with a scathingly raised eyebrow.

                “Steve’s coronation and official anointing as Crowned Prince of Hithlum,” Arthadan said then added dryly, “honestly, I’m not surprised you didn’t hear about it, considering you were buried in your little energy project at the time and couldn’t be bothered to respond to the invitation; sent out almost two weeks in advance.” Clint stifled a snicker.

                “Oh, burn,” he chuckled softly, and all but ignored the glare Tony sent his way, “he got you there.” Arthadan smiled thinly in the way only practiced career politicians or royalty could ever get right; like you had been judged and found wanting. He turned and the smile vanished, as did all semblance of politeness when he turned his eyes back on Fury. Those eyes of his were no longer arctic cold, but instead were burning with white hot fire.

                “And since we are on the subject of Steve’s legal power of attorney,” Arthadan said, “I don’t want to ever find out about something like this from a second hand source.” Arthadan all but snarled at Fury, his eyes blazing like acetylene torches, the blue almost glowing with his wrath. “I expect to be informed of any medical emergencies regarding my heir from now on in the future,” Arthadan growled, prowling like a predator closer to Fury until he was mere inches from the man, “do I make myself _clear_ , _Director_?” the Avengers, sans Steve, all looked at Fury and saw the exact moment that the closed man finally broke under Arthadan’s fiery glare; the eye patched Director broke eye contact and tightened his already clenched jaw.

                “Crystal,” Fury said.

                “Good,” Arthadan growled behind clenched teeth, giving the man one last glare before he turned back to the Healer, his eyes softening as he did. “You mentioned further treatment, Barandir?” he asked his voice and tone composed again. The Healer looked over at his comrade and then the director before firmly setting his gaze on the King.

                “I did, your grace,” he said. “I believe my colleague can further explain. Doctor?” the doctor nervously cleared his through and smoothed his smock, nervous to be under the sudden scrutiny of the team and a king, before he spoke.

                “Not long after we stabilized the fetus,” he explained, “Captain Rogers started having uterine contractions. We did everything we could to halt the progression of the labor, but since the Captain suffered a miscarriage we believe that it is responding to that stimuli to expel the aborted fetus.” He looked over at Barandir for confirmation and support, and after receiving it in the form of a nod, he continued, “Our concern is that this might cause further distress to the other fetus, and that it might die as a result.” He glanced over at Barandir, who took up the thread and continued.

                “In response to this we’ve begun an IV of the Numenorean formula that the Captain was prescribed, as a preventative measure,” he said his eyes locking onto Arthadan for approval, which was received with a small but relieved smile. “It has as such sped up the growth of the child, and hopefully when the labor progresses to birth the babe will be developed enough to not require time in an incubator.”

                “Formula,” Bruce asked. Barandir turned to him and with a kindly smile explained.

                “It was a formula that was in Numenor of Old,” he said. “Its purpose was to help premature babies develop faster after birth, or to be a preventative measure for expectant mothers who were carrying multiples. It is common knowledge that twins or other sets of multiples tend to be born premature and very small. As a result, this formula was created to stimulate their growth more quickly before birth to ensure a good size and weight, and to continue the regimen until they were at a stable growth and development. We didn’t have the benefits of incubators back then, so we found other means to help our newborns or the unborn.” Bruce’s eyebrows rose in respect, but then furrowed.

                “Then why didn’t you…” he began but Barandir interrupted him with a good-natured smile.

                “Why didn’t we share this formula with the humans of earth,” he finished. “We did. The results were… less than encouraging.” He hedged, shooting a glance at Arthadan.

                “What Barandir means to say,” Arthadan continued, “is that the formula is incompatible with your people, and those that did receive it, it deformed them. I believe you have heard old legends about children being born with unnatural, almost demonic birth defects. Those unfortunate children were those that had received it before birth. After this had happened a few times, I forbade any Healer to give the formula to anyone not of Numenorean decent. It was not out of selfishness that we did this, as the Catholic Church had said, but out of our love for our fellow Man, and desire not to cause further harm between our peoples, nor widen the rift. Unfortunately it widened anyway.” Arthadan gave them all a melancholy smile.

                “The Serum,” Bruce said, his eyes alight with understanding. Arthadan nodded gravely.

                “Dr. Erskine had discovered the formula,” Barandir explained, “and had hopes that with alterations to its compounds, it could be a universal panacea for birth defects and growth and developmental disorders. Unfortunately his research was discovered by the Nazis and by HYDRA. They wanted the Serum to make the perfect Super Soldier, but for all the improvements to the original formula that he had made, it would never work on anyone that was not of Numenorean decent. That is why it made Schmidt into the monster he was. It was also why we encouraged any further research on it to become outlawed. Steve was, in a word, a miracle. It was by pure luck that he was just the kind of man Abraham was looking for, and had the one characteristic that would make the Serum work to its true potential.” Tony chewed on his lip and hunched his shoulders in shame. He had called Steve all but worthless, and here these men were that knew him better than someone who had barely even glanced at his file, and they were calling him a miracle. In that moment Tony felt like the slimiest piece of scum on the planet, lower than a snake.

                “Keep at it, doctor,” Fury said and Arthadan looked at the man with surprise and newfound respect. “Contrary to what you must believe, I do want Steve’s child to live. Having a child to care for, our psychologist have said, would help him to overcome some of this grief and further his desire to integrate with society again.” Arthadan shook his head in false dismay, but smiled fondly. Fury was coming from the standpoint of a director wanting a great asset to be at the best of his ability, and if having a child to come home to helped that, then he was willing to concede that. But it was still a place of concern, and for that, Tony had to give the man his props.

                “I agree,” Arthadan said, “do whatever you have to do.” Bruce cleared his throat and gave a slight smile.

                “Maybe we should watch after Steve,” he suggested. “I mean,” he shrugged, looking around, hesitantly; “he is being moved out of emergency care, isn’t he?” the healer nodded.

                “Yes,” he said, “he’s been moved to a private room. We have him on our own medicines so he will be out for a while. It should let him rest enough to recover his strength for the birth. We have him on fluids, and IV nutrients to give his body a boost. But it would be beneficial to have someone there that he knows when he wakes up.” The avengers all share a look, before Tony spoke up.

                “We’ll watch in shifts,” he said, “I’ll watch him first, and then Bruce, then… well you get the idea.” Tony clapped his hands together, “so… if that’s all, I’ll just… you know, go see him.” Tony breezed past the group and walked down the hall only to turn right back around to look at the doctor. “I have no idea where he is,” he said with a nervous chuckle. The Healer and Arthadan sent a fond smile his way, before they answered his unasked question.

                “Down the hall,” the healer said, “three doors down from the emergency room, on the left.” Tony smiled tightly.

                “Thanks,” he said and took off. He followed the directions and found Maedhros and that gigantic hound in the room. He quickly found himself wondering when they slipped away from the group, before he shook his head and accepted it as a weird elvish thing. Instead he found himself examining the room.

It was rather spacious and painted in a calming white with blue undertones, and had none of the dark paints and metallic that he had come to associate with SHIELD. Steve was settled on a bed on the wall to the right of the door, and was thankfully covered in a sheet and dressed in a thin hospital gown. He looked even worse than before, with dark bruises under his eyes, and a drawn face, but at least he didn’t look so deathly pale.

Maedhros acknowledged him with a soft smile and a nod, and Tony turned to take the chair on Steve’s left, only to find it occupied by none other than Yasha. The brunette sniper, and former Army Ranger, looked just as pale and drawn as his… mother? Tony honestly didn’t know what the kid was to Rogers, other than his kid, so he guessed he’d have to ask. Tony smiled thinly, and Yasha sent back one of his own, before turning to Rogers again. His hand was wrapped tightly around Steve’s, and Tony would bet, if the bed was big enough, he’d be lying next to him too, if he could. Tony took in the rest of Steve’s appearance and wasn’t surprised by much of it. There were several wires attached to him, mostly on his belly, which was significantly bigger than it had been a few hours ago. He guessed that meant that the formula was working and that the little guy was growing. The IV lines on the pole were attached to the back of Steve’s left and right hand, as well as one that snaked under the covers. That one must be attached to his belly somehow. The liquid in that bag was a faint transparent blue, with a slight shimmery quality.

Tony turned to grab another chair and stopped short when he saw their resident scary masked assassin sitting the third chair by the table typing away at a very nice laptop, not one of his designs, probably writing up his report. How do you write up a report for an alien invasion? Where do you even file that?

                “File form 297d,” Stevan said, causing Tony to jolt and look at him again. The masked man smirked widely and continued to type. How did he know that? “You think very loudly. You should probably do something about that. Any good telepath could read you like an open book,” he snorted and his smirk turned into a wicked grin, “actually even a pretty bad telepath could read you. You have no mental shields, or filter.” Tony wrinkled his nose in irritation and sat down opposite of the man.

                “You really shouldn’t read people’s minds without asking,” He said, “it’s rude.” Stevan paused his typing and looked up at Tony. He raised one dry eyebrow, and gave him the most deadpan look, that Tony couldn’t help the nervous giggle that left his mouth. “Yeah, I probably deserve that.”

                “Have you called Pepper yet,” Stevan said, after he turned back to his typing. Tony stopped dead, and went as still as stone. He looked at the man across from him and saw not even a hint of emotion on the mans masked face, but then again, it was very hard to read a man wearing a mask made with ultra-mat black, or his own supposed equivalent. How did he even know? “It was the only thing in your head when you were holding onto that missile. You should tell her how you feel, Tony. Take it from someone who knows.” Stevan looked up and Tony didn’t need the mask off to see the heartbreaking sorrow in his eyes. “You should never take any moment for granted. You have the chance to tell her, you have your second chance. Most won’t ever get that. I didn’t. So don’t waste it.” Stevan looked back down and, just like that, his face was cold and blank again. But in just the right light he could see the glimmer of an unshed tear in his eyes, and for just a moment Tony wondered what had happened to this guy to make him say that to him. What did he lose to make him say that? Or maybe rather, who did he lose?

That was a question that might never be answered, or if it was, Tony was sure he might not want to know.

~*~

* * *

The first thing Steve is aware of when he wakes is a low dull ache in his back and lower abdomen. It felt someone had taken a band around his waist and pulled it slightly too tight. If this was how it felt for women to wear some corsets, he could understand the discomfort. He groaned low in his throat and shifted a little, trying to get more comfortable, and felt a sharp tug on his belly. He hissed and brought his hand to the spot. Steve’s eyes blurrily blinked open when he registered that it was significantly more mounded than before.

                “Easy, my good Captain,” a voice said to his right, and Steve rolled his head over to see Thor sitting in one of those cheap plastic chairs that they used in hospital rooms. The Thunderer dwarfed the chair and looked almost comical in his Asgardian armor and red cloak, but then again Arthadan still wore traditional Numenorean garb; so who was he to judge. Suddenly it clicked that Thor was sitting next to him in a hospital, and Steve was on a bed. He registered the faint beeping of a heart monitor as well as some other sounds that he had come to associate with hospitals.

                “Thor,” Steve rasped his throat dry. He coughed and cleared his throat, and looked up to find Thor holding a glass with a straw in it to his mouth. A soft and grateful smile pulled across his lips, as he let Thor guide the straw to his lips to take a drink. Steve took a few swallows and cleared the tacky dryness from his throat. “Thanks,” he said with a smile as Thor pulled the glass away. “what are you still doin’ here? What happened,” he asked. Thor’s eyes became soft and mournful like a kicked puppy.

                “Do you not remember, Captain,” Thor said. Steve shook his head and looked down. His eyes widened in shock at the sight of his gravid belly. He hesitantly brought his hand to the mound and tenderly rubbed the apex of the curve. Suddenly it all came rushing back, and his eyes widened and his jaw dropped with horror. He looked up at Thor with pleading eyes.

                “The baby,” Steve said. “I... I … I was having contractions.” Thor nodded, and his eyes became even more sorrowful, full of sympathy. Steve’s face crumpled and his eyes filled with tears. “I lost them, didn’t I,” he croaked through his tears. Thor gently took Steve’s hand and squeezed it, trying to give some semblance of comfort.

                “The healer said that one of the babes died,” Thor confirmed, and Steve took a sobbing gasp, his eyes heartbroken. Thor clasped his hand firmly in both his hands, and gave Steve a hopeful smile, “but one is still alive.” Steve gasped, and started sobbing in relief, tears running down his face as he smiled. “He has every hope that it will make it, as long as you stay strong, Captain.”

                “Steve,” he interrupted.

                “What,” Thor asked in confusion.

                “if you… if the doc’s already told you all that,” he explained, “then you might as well call me by my name.” Steve turned his head and smiled at Thor, “besides, we’re not on duty, so call me Steve. All my friends do, or… did.” Steve’s smile became a little bit brittle as he remembered that all his friends were dead, and all he had left were their kids that he had never met. Thor smiled back, almost beaming with joy at such camaraderie.

                “I would be glad to, Steve,” Thor said. He looked down at Steve’s gravid belly with concern. “Is it well; the babe?” he asked softly. Steve looked back down at the mound on his abdomen with a tender smile.

                “Yeah,” Steve answered softly, “he’s not really moving, but he’s okay. I can feel it.” suddenly Steve felt his belly seize and clench. He hunched over, and let out a sharp his through his teeth, clutching his belly with both hands. “Ow,” he said after a moment, once the cramp passed.

                “Are you well, Captain,” Thor asked in concern, placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

                “Yeah,” he answered and looked up at Thor with a raised brow, “and what’d I just say about callin’ me that?” Steve smirked at Thor’s sudden blush, but that didn’t lessen the worry he felt in his own breast. That had either been the mother of all cramps, or a contraction. “Thor,” Steve said his voice a little shaky.

                “Yes, Steve,” he answered with and open and eager face.

                “I think, I uh…,” Steve stuttered swallowing down the lump of sudden fear in his voice, “I think I just had a contraction… a pretty strong one.” Thor’s face became quickly sober and serious, free of any of his cheerful demeanor.

                “Aye,” Thor said, “the healer said you’d be having them.” Steve’s eyes widened and his lips paled a little. Thor placed comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze. It was so much like what Bucky would do, it gave Steve’s heart a pang of still fresh grief.

                “He did,” Steve asked.

                “Aye, Steve,” Thor answered, “you’ve been in labor for some time.” At the sight of Steve’s wide eyes and openly shocked face, Thor let out a bark of laughter. “Yes, Captain, it’s nearly time. Your healers are quite skilled,” Thor said with and impressed smile, taking his hand away from Steve’s shoulder to twist his fingers through Steve’s tightly clenched ones. Steve Smiled gratefully and Thor Continued, “they have some sort of medicine that could make you not feel the labor pains, so that you might rest and recover your strength. And you will need all you can get,” Thor said seriously. “If it is wearing off now, then it must be nearing your time. But have no fear, Steve,” Thor clasped his hand around the one clasped with Steve’s, “you and I shall face this pain together. I will not forsake you in your greatest hour of need. I will be with you.” Steve felt his eyes water and smiled.

Suddenly, he felt his belly squeeze, as if a band had been wrapped around it and wrenched tight. The vice-like pull of his muscles clenching even tighter, made his cry out and double over in pain. He squeezed Thor’s hand tight and grabbed under the swell of his belly, pressing at the tightening pain. Now he understood why Bucky had screamed so much when he was in labor. It hurt! It felt like a red hot poker was being drawn slowly through his belly and towards his spine. The pain doubled and tripled in strength as his belly tightened further. Just when he thought that he couldn’t take any more, he felt a shift in his belly, from deep inside, in his womb, like a rubber band snapping, and he felt a gush of something wet rush out from between his thighs.

                “Thor,” Steve gasped, and clenched his teeth as the contraction slowly, agonizingly released its grip. “Oh, God! My water just broke!” he looked over to see Thor’s wide eyes and ashen face. Thor stood, not letting go of Steve’s hand.

                “Healer,” he bellowed his voice like the sudden crack of thunder, “come quick! His waters have let!” Steve slumped back against the bed but suddenly felt a very uncomfortable pressure deep in his pelvis. Steve hissed as he shifted his legs to relieve the pressure, and slid further down the bed to lie back, only to bolt right back upright when the pressure increased and his belly tightened again. But this time it came with an almost overwhelming urge to bear down. Steve followed his instincts and bore down with a scream. In his efforts he missed the Healer arriving, but didn’t when he felt the bed drop away from his feet. He looked up with wide and shocked eyes to see the Healer put up some metal stirrups and gently maneuver his legs into them.

                “That’s it, Captain,” he encouraged, “very good.” Steve looked around wide eyed as a doctor wheeled in a plastic incubator and other equipment.

                “What’s happening,” Steve gasped once the contraction let go of his belly. The pressure was still there but it felt different now, and with wide frightened eyes, he suddenly understood why: the head! He was feeling the baby’s head. He gasped and slumped back onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling with wide eyes. Now that he knew what it was, he was intimately aware of the shape of his baby, more so than he had been for months; and it was right there! “Thor,” Steve gasped, “the baby’s coming! I can feel it, he’s coming!”  Steve hunched over his belly again, and this time with his legs up and splayed wide he felt a shift and the pressure tripled. Steve flopped back with deep gasping breaths. His wild eyes sought Thor’s and locked on. Thor clasped his hand tightly in both of his, with an encouraging nod.

                “Alright, Captain,” the healer said once he was positioned between his legs, “on the next contraction I need you to push, hard.” Steve’s wild eyes locked onto the healers, as he panted his way through the pain. Again his belly began to tighten, and Steve let out a broken wail, gasping around his pain. “Now, Captain, Push,” he ordered, “Bear down, hard!” Steve followed his order with zeal, and found himself letting out a loud agonized scream. As the pressure and pain doubled, and then tripled, Steve felt a slow agonizing shift, as the baby slowly slid down and out. And he screamed. He screamed as he hadn’t since that day in the Rebirth chamber. He hadn’t ever thought that any pain could compare to that, but as his grit his teeth and groaned through his pushes, he found out that he was dead wrong. His last thought as his mind was pushed under by instinct and pain, was that he hoped that he made it through this to hold his baby.

~*~*

* * *

After a few hours loitering outside Steve’s room, switching to watch their Captain, they were finally kicked out of the infirmary wing and back onto the bridge. Steven had slipped away to change back into his alter ego, and when he was questioned as to where the Knight had disappeared to, he simply said:

                “I’m not his keeper anymore,” and smiled sadly, “I’m no one’s keeper. He probably went home. As much as he likes Steve, I don’t think he wants to be reminded of something he can’t have.”

                “And what’s that,” Tony asked. Steven looked at the billionaire turned hero and for a moment Tony saw such a broken look of longing and despair for a moment in those blue eyes, before it vanished under a cool mask of indifference; so fast he thought he had imagined it.

                “A family,” Steven said and dropped the conversation completely; refusing to answer the prodding from the others. Natasha seemed to understand and smacked Clint on the back of the head to shut him up.

                “Ow,” Clint exclaimed, as he rubbed the suddenly sore spot on his head. He looked over at Natasha with an indignant scowl. “What was that for?”

                ‘Drop it,’ Natasha mouthed and sent him her coldest glare. Clint understood and had the good grace to look ashamed before dropping the conversation completely. Arthadan happily greeted Steven once he stepped onto the bridge after his own session watching Steve. The blond King grinned widely and enveloped Steven in a warm and tight embrace. Steven sunk into the hug eagerly, soaking up the affection he was so starved for without his Ada, or his father to give it to him. Sometimes, no matter how many hugs a brother could give you, Steven just needed his Ada or his father to hold him and make him feel safe again. Hugging Steve, and even Arthadan, seemed to fill this hole for a bit, but nothing could compare to Ada’s hugs. It felt like home.

                “It’s so good to see you again, Steven,” Arthadan said into Steven ear, before pulling away, “it’s been too long!” Arthadan’s grin was just as wide and sincere as Steve’s and it soothed that agitated part of himself that he didn’t even realize was agitated. He supposed that being under the disapproving looks that Steve had sent his way had made him want some genuine love and affection sent his way by the man, and Arthadan looked just like Steve enough to trick that part of himself into relaxing again.

                “How do you know each other,” Natasha asked. Steven looked back at Arthadan out of the side of his eye with a conspiratorial smirk. Arthadan simply grinned, and it was the same wide mouth grin that Steve had, eyes squinted and sparkling.

                “Steven was there when I woke from my death-sleep,” Arthadan said, his eyes sparkling with mirth and gratitude. “He was… my anchor in the storm. He took me home, to a house that had simply been plans on paper, and models when I left the world. It was a joy greater than any I could ever describe, cresting that hill, and seeing the house I wanted to build for my sons.” Arthadan’s smile was warm and loving and for a moment Steven saw his Ada in the Numenorean’s place, and there was no doubt that he came from this family. It was in his smile, in the way he looked at him. That tender softness that came from a loving father towards a son, and Steven wanted more than anything for his Ada to be there in that moment. Steven felt tears pool in his eyes and hastily blinked them away and cleared his throat before looking at the others.

Natasha’s smile was knowing and Clint’s had a secret tenderness that he hadn’t expected, but Steven let the man have his secrets. They didn’t get to have many of them in this business that any that they still carried were even more precious. Bruce seemed to be almost calm, and Tony only slightly anxious, with a hint of guilt. Yasha on the other hand was the picture of a caged tiger, pacing and prowling about the table as they waited for news. If he was to be honest, they were all a bit tense, but most of them hid it rather well, it’s just that Yasha was more invested than the others. Thor had yet to return from his shift, and that could either be good or bad news depending on how it was looked at. Maedhros on the other hand, was the picture of absolute serenity. The ancient High Elf was practically exuding calmness in waves as he sat beside his giant hound, petting Huan’s golden fur.  

Suddenly Steven’s head shot up and a faraway look came into his eyes. Maedhros looked up at the young half-elven with sharp eyes, taking in every detail of the look, before Steven suddenly smiled. It was a slow thing, soft and joyful, before turning positively predatory, in its viciousness.

                “What is it,” Nelyo asked. Steven turned and looked at him, his smile becoming softer again.

                “Steve’s okay,” he said, “the baby’s coming.” Steven smiled joyfully again, his eyes filled with nostalgic tears. Then his smile turned into a cunning smirk.

                (“Your Atar is on his way,”) Steve said, via Osanwe. (“He’s going to ‘request’ for permission to land.”) Maedhros could practically feel the quotation marks and raised a brow haughtily.

                (“You mean order, don’t you?”) Nelyo asked with a sly smile. Steven’s laughter rang through his mind like the tinkling of bells, while he smiled outwardly with a raised eyebrow and a shrug.

                (“Sometimes being a Five Star has its advantages,”) Steven all but crooned in Maedhros’ mind. Nelyo can’t help himself and burst out laughing, just as Jonathan received the transmission over the radio.

                “Sir,” Jonathan said, “General Fëanor Noldorean is requesting permission to land his chopper on deck.” All eyes turn onto Maedhros as his laughter turned from soft chuckling to full bellied guffaws, all but cackling at Fury’s face when he realized a Five Star General all but ordered him to board his boat. A general that had faced both World Wars and was a highly decorated combat war veteran, not to mention a former acquaintance of their dearly beloved Captain. Fury’s next words just about summed up his feelings about this, and sent Maedhros into another bout of roaring laughter.

                “Son of a...”

~*~

* * *

Fëanor’s arrival onto the bridge was akin to a dragon blowing in from the northern wastes: first there was the hot breath of his voice bellowing for all in his path to stand aside, and then his presence would become known. He marched his way onto the bridge in full dress uniform, ribbons and medals on full display, his cap square on his head, low over his brow casting his eye sockets into shadow. And those eyes, those luminous eyes that had seen the light of the trees at their height, were aflame with the fire of his spirit. He looked grim and wrathful, his eyes flashing wide, and for one brief moment, Maedhros was back in Tirion on that fateful day when his Ada drew sword upon his brother and threatened his life. The moment he entered the room, all eyes turned to him. It was hard not to. Fëanor was a force to be reckoned with on a normal day, but on a day like this, he was a force of nature that no man could ever hope to match.

Maedhros knew the moment he set eyes on director Fury, for Fëanor’s eyes flashed with unbridled fury, burning like molten silver, and his face hardened into cold steel. Fëanor’s jaw clenched and his nostrils flared and his face reddened as such a look of hate and wrath appeared on his face, you would have thought that he was facing down Morgoth himself, and not Director Nick Fury. The old battle-hardened Prince of the Noldor stalked towards the director like a dragon about to devour a thief. Maedhros felt himself pale and bolted to his feet. He rushed to grab his Ada’s form, to stop him, but not before Fëanor drew back his arm and landed a shuddering blow to Fury’s face that not only startled the man but sent him staggering back several steps.

                “Son of a bitch,” Fury said holding his bleeding nose. Several security guards quickly rushed to apprehend him but Maedhros waved them off before restraining Fëanor’s arms behind his back.

                “ _You’re lucky I didn’t break every bone in your body_ ,” Fëanor roared. Maedhros had trouble restraining him as Fëanor lunged with almost every word.

                “General Noldorean I presume,” Fury said after he managed to wipe his bloody nose. Fëanor lunged again with a savage snarl and this time managed to wiggle an arm loose to make a grab at him.

                “ _ATAR_ ,” Maedhros shouted, pulling him tighter to his chest. “ _Calm down_!” Fëanor heaved great billowing breaths through his nose as he attempted to reign in his infamous temper. It seemed that he was not very successful because he only seemed to be more infuriated than before.

                “ _You **knew** he was with child_,” Fëanor roared, “ _an you sent him into battle **anyway**_! _You may as well have **murdered** it!_” Fury wiped at his bloody nose and sent a glare Fëanor’s way.

                “I sent the greatest soldier the world has ever seen to deal with our greatest threat,” Fury said calmly. “And I fail to see how it is your business what I do with the Captain?” Fëanor lunged again, his eyes wild and fey, a snarl pulled from his lips as he clawed at Fury’s form. Fury took a startled step back, as Maedhros hauled his Atar back. After a moment of holding him back it became apparent why he was still taking great heaving breaths: he was crying. Great heaving sobs wracked his frame as tears of fear and fury ran down his face. The great elven lord felt absolutely helpless when he heard about the battle, and when he saw who was right in the thick of it, leading the Avengers, it had felt as if someone had reached in and squeezed his lungs and heart in his chest. And when he heard that Steve had gone into premature labor, that fear had turned to fury, but still broiling underneath was that fear. Now it became mingled with another powerful emotion that he felt utterly helpless to: grief. Fëanor had never dealt well with grief, lashing out with anger at those he had deemed responsible, and blaming himself as well. So this, had hit too hard and close to home for him to handle.

                “Because that soldier,” Fëanor seethed, his eyes wide and wild, flashing with fire and grief, his lips twisted in a snarl of rage, “that Captain… was carrying my grandson…” tears finally spilled down his cheeks as grief overcame his rage. “It was all I had left of my son,” he wept. Maedhros pulled Fëanor close and hugged him from behind, resting his head on Atar’s raven crown. His own grief spilled over, and he brushed his Fëa against his Atar’s soothingly, sending over comfort and hope across their parental bond. Fëanor closed his eyes and leaned into the embrace, clasping his hand fast to Maedhros’ arms, wrapped around his chest.

                “Atar,” Maedhros said softly, and pressed his mind against Fëanor’s, (“one of the babes survived.”) Fëanor turned in his arms his face open with shock, and his eyes shining with fragile hope.

                “It’s alive,” he breathed, his voice soft and tinged with hope. Maedhros nodded and sent his elder a hopeful and warm smile. Fëanor’s eyes shut and he all but collapsed against Maedhros’ arms in relief. Before the red haired Elda could answer the bridge doors opened and the doctor in charge of Steve’s care walked onto the bridge. All eyes turned to the man and either stood or sat ridged in anticipation. The doctor froze for a moment, suddenly unsure under the scrutiny of all those eyes before he sent the assembled group a proud and happy smile.

                “Captain Rogers,” he said hesitantly then smiled, “Steve… has just delivered.” Arthadan stepped forward; his eyes alight with joy and hope.

                “He’s given birth,” he asked and the doctor nodded with a broad grin.

                “It’s a healthy baby boy,” he announced, and the team broke out in cheers.

                “Knew it,” Tony crowed. Similar exclamations of joy could be heard on deck before Yasha broke the noise with a question.

                “Is my Ada alright,” he asked, hopefully, “Can I see him?”

                “I don’t see why not,” the doctor said with a grin, “but… gently, it was still rough on him.” with permission given the assembled Avengers and family rushed past the doctor to get to the infirmary, leaving the doctor with a startled look on his face, and wide eyes.

~*~*

* * *

                “Thor,” Steve gasped when he heard the first wet coughs, then wails of his son. He looked over at the thunderer with a watery grin. His hair was plastered flat on his head from sweat and his cheeks were flushed, but his eyes were wide and shining bright. Thor’s answering smile was just as wide and joyous as Steve’s own grin. “Thor is he… is he alright,” Steve asked looking over at the table where the Healer had whisked away his child once he began to cry. Thor leaned over and saw the Healer taking some measurements and wiping him down but from what he could see, the child was pink and plump and screaming his head off. The Healer, Barandir turned around with the still wailing child in his arms and a proud and relieved smile pulling at his lips.

                “See for yourself, Captain,” Thor said as Barandir approached. Steve looked over and sat himself up a bit. He grinned and reached out his arms for the bundle, and he was not disappointed when Barandir gently laid the baby on Steve’s chest. Steve’s hands instinctively went to support the baby’s head as he let the little boy rest against his chest, his little head laying on his shoulder, his face tucked into his neck. Tears spilled out of his eyes as he grinned at the little form now in his arms. He barely felt the contractions in his belly, and absently pushed out the afterbirth, nor did he notice the healer whisking it away. All his focus and attention was on the little life now resting in his arms. He was wrinkly and pink but he felt heavy on his chest.

                “How much does he weigh,” Steve asked as he looked up. The healer smiled.

                “9lbs on the nose, your grace,” Barandir answered. Steve’s eyes went wide.

                “9lbs,” Steve said incredulously, and looked down at the little thing in his arms with shock. The baby was nosing his chest, and letting out little whimpers. Steve smiled and shifted his hold to rest him against his breast. “No wonder it hurt so much! You’re a big baby, aren’t ya?” Steve relaxed when his nethers were cleaned and his legs were allowed to finally rest on a bed and be covered. Steve chuckled and gasped when the baby latched on and began to nurse.

                “Tis a good weight, Steve,” Thor said, as he clapped Steve’s shoulder and smiled down at the nursing babe.

                “Aye,” Steve answered with a proud, but tired grin, “it is.” The sound of trampling feet made him look up from the baby in his arms just in time to see the team enter the doorway. Steve’s grin grew wider at the awestruck looks on their faces. “Hey guys,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse and rough, but his grin never faltering, “Come and say hi.” Tony entered first, tentatively, but quickly followed by Clint surprisingly and then the others. The face that shocked the smile off his face for a moment was one he had not seen for a while: Fëanor. The old elf prince was looking at the baby in Steve’s arms with all the awe and love of a grandparent. There were tears of joy in his eyes as he looked up and caught Steve’s gaze. Steve grinned and crooked a hand at him, waving him forward. “Fëanor,” he said with a proud grin, “come meet your grandson.” Nelyo’s presence behind his father brought a pleasant jolt of surprise to Steve but he was even happier to have a friend and family near.

Fëanor approached with trepidation, but once he got a good look at the form, he melted.

                “He’s beautiful,” Fëanor said his face tender and warm. The team slowly congregated around Steve and the bed to get a closer look at the little form in his arms. Steve smiled knowingly and shifted his son better in his arms for them to get a better look. A collective “aw” erupted from the group, as well as several exclamations of how beautiful he was.

                “What’s his name,” Tony asked. Steve grinned and looked down at the little baby who was looking up at him with blurry blue eyes.

                “His name is Andrew Mormegil,” Steve proclaimed, and Fëanor looked up to see the fey look enter Steve’s eyes, as foresight drew his gaze far away, “and he shall be a bringer of justice and truth, my light of courage.” Fëanor was taken aback by the proclamation, and realized that Steve was more Elvish than he had initially thought. There was nothing ill in the prophetic statement, but it still sent a shiver down his spine. Then just like that, Steve blinked and the fey light was gone. Steve looked up again and saw Yasha hovering on the edge of the group and grinned. “Come here,” Steve said.

Yasha came closer and the group parted to allow him to sit right beside Steve’s bed. A soft breath of awe, and a slow loving smile, and Steven could see his brother had fallen for the little babe. Jonathan nudged his brother’s arm, and Steven looked over at his brother with a bemused smile. He only looked up to see Arthadan stand at the foot of Steve’s bed with a proud smile and a kingly cut to his stance and form.

                “Long live Andrew Mormegil,” Arthadan said in a clear ringing voice, “first of his name, heir of the House of Rogers and Arthadan, the Prince of Hithlum.” Steve’s eyes were filled with grateful tears and grinned joyously as he looked down at his new son, proudly named the heir of his line, and his house.

TBC…

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End note: sorry this took so long. I had just started a new job, and couldn’t get up to my computer for a few weeks. Thankfully I had a break, so inspiration struck. Also I just wanted to get that out of the way, and on to the rest.  
> If any of you noticed the slightly Game of Thrones style speech for Arthadan’s proclamation, it’s because I’ve been reading a lot of GOT fanfics and it has colored his speech patterns. I think of Arthadan as very old fashioned, he was after all born in Numenor, and he alone, save for Híraklion still remember it. Not only that he was raised among the elves, namely Celebrimbor, so that would color his speech, and he was raised to be a prince, and spent much of his life as a King of exiles. So if he sounds a little austere and regal that’s why.  
> Next up: Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading and please review.  
> 


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